"You and your creature comforts," Rickard muses, though he's sure that by the end of this, assuming he survives, he'll be longing for a soft bed as well. His bones are getting too old to endure damp underbrush and cold hardpan dirt for any real length of time without complaint. 

Between feeding his dogs equally, he manages to enjoy some of the meal himself. He and the hounds put away every last scrap of food from his plate. They seem to know when the food is no longer coming, as they all settle back in their original positions, tongues poking out to lick their muzzles, savoring every last drop.

"I'd rather not see them try the same with us." He disagrees kindly enough, resting a hand on Ruhan's head. The dog is large enough sitting down that his head easily reaches the arm of Rickard's chair. "Think of it: would you not prefer to see some creativity? We've seen face-peeling already. Let's hope for a new and sensational way to die." His smirk is faint, but it's there. His good eye shifts to the cards as Septus withdraws the deck, then proceeds to roll. He's still smiling, though.

Rickard doesn't really enjoy cards. To ask anyone who knew him, you might be told Rickard doesn't enjoy much of [i]anything[/i]. He does not drink, he does not gamble. Septus seems to be the only one able to entice him in even a simple hand of cards for fun. He is inclined to indulge his partner because he knows full well what Septus has to deal with. He understands that he himself is not an ideal partner, stoic and stubborn and obsessed with his dogs as he is. It only seems fair to give a little in return.

He slides his plate to the side and leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows atop the table. "Very well. But if I win, and 'one game' turns into 'best two of three', I'm sicking Kerr on you. I'll not fall into another trap that turns to 'best five of nine' again."