"If there are survivors," Furiosa says, "And it's a self-contained spacecraft, I'd love to ask them about water purification methods. Because we're going to need them here lest everyone get cholera or something."

Furiosa's comfort zone is the road and the battlefield, but sometimes her brain leaps ahead to logistics.

Her expression warms at the offer of Harley's bat, and she gives her a nod. Sharing weapons in a survival situation is practical, but it's also a sign of trust, and she won't forget it.

As they head out, she's quiet, her attention focused on the world around them. Never in her life has she seen this much snow. Actually, never in her life has she seen snow at all, but the soft hillocks and drifts remind her of the desert sand; shaped by wind, inhospitable to human feet, uniform and beautiful and potentially deadly.

It's just that it's cold and wet instead of hot and dry. A color-film-negative of the world she comes from.