There are some mild exclamations from the War Boys about the name Dagmar, only because one of the Citadel Tribunes is the Dag, whose moniker may or may not be short for something else. Only she knows, at this point, and she only talks about things she wants to talk about. Furiosa reflects that of all the Sisters who might be brought here to visit or help, she would be the best.

But that's something to be considered later.

She leaves the boys to attend to putting things away, giving them carte blanche to do whatever other work they're fit for and would like to do. Engines, carpentry, and simple labor are well within their wheelhouse, though Spanner is more physically delicate. Furiosa herself has no fear of the place or the people, and that's reassuring to them, although there's a little argument that they're supposed to be guarding her before they finally let her go off to see Thor alone.

She's slow on her journey to the lighthouse-keeper's cottage, looking around her, enjoying the glimpses of the Old World, rock and plants and freely-running water. Others might mourn how low Asgard has fallen. She sees wealth and beauty, and thinks it fitting.

Thor, by contrast, looks better fit for the Wasteland now than ever. The lack of vanity in his dirty locks and lengthening beard is a surprise, though as always Furiosa's skewed standards mean she's not as troubled as many might be. Her gaze goes to the left arm, which she'd been told he'd lost, but she wasn't sure what to expect as far as a prosthesis. It looks smooth and fluid, almost a part of him.

"Thor," she calls his name before she gets too close. It's not a good idea to startle people. "Hey. Thor, it's me."