"A couple hours. Wanted to make sure I wasn't hallucinating." She's nowhere near as prone to such things as Max, but a little heat and overwork can knock anyone off their rocker temporarily.

She matches pace with him, anyway, and for all that she's missing that arm, her legs seem to be in perfect working order. Of course, having that prosthetic arm means she's very quick to pick out, from his motion, that the left-leg weakness isn't weakness so much as adaptation. Maybe she's perverse, but that makes her a little more comfortable with him, not because she thinks it makes him weak, but because it tells her a story: either he's met with some bad luck and pain, or he was born a little different from most.

"No violence?" That's important to know. "I guess if there's so much to go around here, there's not much need to fight."

"It's not like this where I came from." What the hell, right? She can meet kindness with at least a sliver of trust. "It's all desert. Sour ground, except on top of the towers, and not much water."