The momentum carries him beyond his time of death, flopping the body down like the ugly sack of water that it is. Shepard considers the prospect, the distance to the canyon, the time of day, and the inevitability of scavengers. Food was an issue, as was water— more for her less than stellar Human endurance than his. That they could win any fight at the proposed meeting-spot was no serious question, but neither was answering said hypothetical the mission at hand. Furthermore, were they to retrace their steps, they would surely have to contend with Varren and whatever else was living out here, and that might be the smart play. No point in teaching local wildlife to expect a handout on the trade route, after all.

Either way, they weren't equipped for a fight, however straightforward. Time and resources were against them, and Free Cities, like most Armies, did not reward independent thinkers.

"Alright, mark that spot on the map. We'll be back when the outposts aren't waiting on resupply," She pronounced, a fitting conclusion to the bandit's worthless life. They'd never even gotten his name, not that it would have mattered, "Mission takes priority."