"There's a sentence I never thought I'd hear anybody say," Furiosa says mildly to the Spine. "How do you smell?"

Throttle breaks into a dazzling grin. He's missing several teeth. "A little bit musty, but he don't smell too bad to me!" If it were an earlier, less apocalyptic time, there might be a cymbal crash after that joke, and Furiosa drops her head into her right hand with a little groan.

She's half amused, in fact, but she kicks sand at the war boy anyway. "Sending you home in the cargo hold for that."

They're close enough to the lot that they can see the Rig now, though, and the dozen war boys and assorted others gathered around in a knot. Whatever fleshy piece they've gotten out of the desert, it's on the ground, and the smallest war boy--probably a war girl, judging from the androgynous build and long braids--is poking at it with a spanner.