As barbaric as it sounds, if the simple loss of one limb was enough to spare her from her intended fate, then Thor can only agree about her luck. Though it can be a difficult process to adapt to a body less whole than it was before, the loss of a limb - or an eye - does not make the person any less than they once were, and that is far preferable to the alternative.
Maybe the Norns still have their hand in Furiosa's weave, spinning tragedy into triumph. If not for her place among the War Boys, would her Citadel have found liberation? Would the warlords have been overthrown if not for her efforts, her expertise, earned with weapon and tools in hand? What life would she, or those she looks after, have lived if not for this twist of fate?
If there's a similar point to the tale of his own weaving, then Thor has yet to see it. And his dreams have been of no help either, no visions since the day the Statesman was torn asunder. If there is something to be learned here, some purpose to find, it seems he must struggle with it on his own.
He doesn't flinch from her touch, just lifting his head a little to look over at her, reflexively searching her eyes for pity and only seeing kindness. Kindness he may not deserve, but it's what she has chosen to show him, despite everything she's been through. A kindred soul, of sorts, a leader who has endured terrible hardship and lost much along the way. Yet she still presses toward the future, whatever it may hold, seeking a better tomorrow for her people. Thor envies her a little for that.
He hasn't really left the village since he arrived here, weeks upon weeks ago, surrounded first by empty islands and later by the remnant of Asgard grappling with the reality of life on Midgard. It's easy for him to look at them and see what they've lost, see the empty spaces where there is only dust, the absence of the magic and technology that they'd taken for granted before it was gone. And knowing that everywhere else on Earth was struggling to cope with the loss of half the population, it hasn't exactly encouraged him to venture elsewhere, to remind himself of what he's done.
But Furiosa's Earth is not the same. And even though her people struggle against their desert for survival, it is no doubt very different from the arctic sea where Asgard now dwells, and full of people that he hasn't failed. "Maybe I will," he says, surprising even himself at how easily it slips out, even as anxiety twists in his belly at the thought of leaving his people for even a short while. "Are they used to visitors?"
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Maybe the Norns still have their hand in Furiosa's weave, spinning tragedy into triumph. If not for her place among the War Boys, would her Citadel have found liberation? Would the warlords have been overthrown if not for her efforts, her expertise, earned with weapon and tools in hand? What life would she, or those she looks after, have lived if not for this twist of fate?
If there's a similar point to the tale of his own weaving, then Thor has yet to see it. And his dreams have been of no help either, no visions since the day the Statesman was torn asunder. If there is something to be learned here, some purpose to find, it seems he must struggle with it on his own.
He doesn't flinch from her touch, just lifting his head a little to look over at her, reflexively searching her eyes for pity and only seeing kindness. Kindness he may not deserve, but it's what she has chosen to show him, despite everything she's been through. A kindred soul, of sorts, a leader who has endured terrible hardship and lost much along the way. Yet she still presses toward the future, whatever it may hold, seeking a better tomorrow for her people. Thor envies her a little for that.
He hasn't really left the village since he arrived here, weeks upon weeks ago, surrounded first by empty islands and later by the remnant of Asgard grappling with the reality of life on Midgard. It's easy for him to look at them and see what they've lost, see the empty spaces where there is only dust, the absence of the magic and technology that they'd taken for granted before it was gone. And knowing that everywhere else on Earth was struggling to cope with the loss of half the population, it hasn't exactly encouraged him to venture elsewhere, to remind himself of what he's done.
But Furiosa's Earth is not the same. And even though her people struggle against their desert for survival, it is no doubt very different from the arctic sea where Asgard now dwells, and full of people that he hasn't failed. "Maybe I will," he says, surprising even himself at how easily it slips out, even as anxiety twists in his belly at the thought of leaving his people for even a short while. "Are they used to visitors?"