"Yeah," Furiosa says in a dull grumble, "I'm experienced dealing with sandstorms, but I could still easily die in one. Storms don't give a damn how clever you are."
Suffice to say, she's worried about Dia, and the fact that the metal person hasn't answered how long ago she left isn't helping. Either he's not really listening to their questions or he's ignoring them. She wouldn't blame him, ultimately; he has only their word that they're not after his Mistress. Still, it leaves her irritable, and in a bad frame of mind to react when the noise rings out on top of the hull.
She shifts, aiming upward at once, alert and with adrenaline flowing almost visibly through her. She's not so jumpy she's going to shoot at the ceiling, though, luckily, and when Harley gives her order, Furiosa moves at once. It's a suggestion very much to her liking; she heads to guard the doorway, keeping out of immediate arm's reach of the door and ramp themselves and trying to listen further.
Unfortunately, at this moment she's reminded of dangers other than approaching thugs or monsters. Storms. Fury storms. How much snow is on the roof of this thing? Could it conceivably slide down and block the entrance? How stable is the covering of snow on the ground, or on the hills around them? If it comes down on them like a Fury storm, the chances of them being rolled and trapped in this thing are high.
She's been there, hunched in the cab of the War Rig and waiting to be buried in dust. Turned turtle in a pit trap and slowly tearing and cutting her own body to get free.
Thinking like that isn't helping anyone, though, and while she can feel her own heart pounding hard in her chest, she's otherwise still as stone, eyes fixed on the doorway.
"There were no tracks but ours and Dia's outside," she says very quietly. "If there's a living thing out there, it can't have been there long."
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Suffice to say, she's worried about Dia, and the fact that the metal person hasn't answered how long ago she left isn't helping. Either he's not really listening to their questions or he's ignoring them. She wouldn't blame him, ultimately; he has only their word that they're not after his Mistress. Still, it leaves her irritable, and in a bad frame of mind to react when the noise rings out on top of the hull.
She shifts, aiming upward at once, alert and with adrenaline flowing almost visibly through her. She's not so jumpy she's going to shoot at the ceiling, though, luckily, and when Harley gives her order, Furiosa moves at once. It's a suggestion very much to her liking; she heads to guard the doorway, keeping out of immediate arm's reach of the door and ramp themselves and trying to listen further.
Unfortunately, at this moment she's reminded of dangers other than approaching thugs or monsters. Storms. Fury storms. How much snow is on the roof of this thing? Could it conceivably slide down and block the entrance? How stable is the covering of snow on the ground, or on the hills around them? If it comes down on them like a Fury storm, the chances of them being rolled and trapped in this thing are high.
She's been there, hunched in the cab of the War Rig and waiting to be buried in dust. Turned turtle in a pit trap and slowly tearing and cutting her own body to get free.
Thinking like that isn't helping anyone, though, and while she can feel her own heart pounding hard in her chest, she's otherwise still as stone, eyes fixed on the doorway.
"There were no tracks but ours and Dia's outside," she says very quietly. "If there's a living thing out there, it can't have been there long."