After her one snarled declaration at the captain, Furiosa is a curiously quiet fighter. She's never one to be above victory screams, but more often than not she saves her breath in a crisis. Especially now that she has that one delicate lung. Her flare gun goes off twice more, claws and fist lashing out once again before grabbing at the steering again, now slick with whatever fluid they drew from their enemy.

The trap of bodies starts to give way, and she drops the flare gun, ready to go--but then Kinner falls, and this time she does yell, a wordless exclamation of dismay.

She shouldn't. If she were speeding across open ground, she couldn't. But we are not things, and with only a split second to think she jerks the steering to the side, rounding in a semicircle and running over a couple of the vandals, in order to keep them from mobbing him. The arm that comes down to scoop him up is the left, all chemical-slick metal, but the claws dig into his coat. He'll need to scramble up to help, but she's surprisingly strong, dragging him toward the cab as she hits the gas again.

Even before he's back in his seat the snowmobile is picking up speed, hurtling toward full momentum.

"I thought I fuckin' told you not to fall off," she tells him breathlessly, and her voice is a growl, but she flashes the briefest of grins at him.