The swamp dweller hears the scuff of your boots, but too late. As he is turning, a hail of slingstones zip through the air, and he yelps and covers up with his right arm defensively. They are hard, painful blows on their own and he drops the knife he had half managed to draw; but then Daybreak spears out and punches through his palm and scores his chest behind. When you withdraw the blade from the strike, the torque of your wrist carves up the veins and ligaments in his palm and crimson core pumps from his hand in great splashes. He will die soon, certainly; but for now, he puts up no defense, instead falling to the ground and holding his arm to himself, groaning and grunting.

His pained, horrified face looks up at you looming over him, and he raises his uncarved hand slightly. It's a warding gesture, begging your mercy... but something else in it, too. He is not screaming out for help, however far his allies might be, as a man about to die usually might try. Indeed, he is cringing in his suffering holding himself back from such a naturally reaction.

This close, you can see Augusto. He seems groggy; dehydrated, battered. You see no resemblance particularly to Biagio... but then, there wouldn't be; and that family does not seem to place much of a premium on such things. Gagged, the young man's dark and puffy eyes watch you as you stand over his captor, with the power of life and death for both in your hands. Cesare and Elda are hustling up to join you, while the remaining lads watch from the lip of the cavemouth.

Like the thief from the night before, this swamp-dweller will bleed out shortly without intervention. Perhaps sooner than that, one of the thieves will likely end his life more directly.

Spoiler: OOC:
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Mercy, or pragmatic justice? Which way, Wasteland girl?