There were so many things to change to make the Citadel into the Green Place, Angharad's idea.
The growers and harvesters and swimmers produced far more than they ever realized before the Sisters came back (in glory, Furiosa and the Vuvalini arrayed around them- no. No mythologizing). The Mothers who chose to continue milking (in companionship and kindness, choice instead of threat) and Toast the Knowing (who read the books and shared what she learned), found the ways to make the milk last. Little growing things and salt and cool saved much of what could be eaten, so that plenty could wait until times of want.
The growers and the Vuvalini traded secrets about the bugs they raised for harvest, the same ones that their ancestors ate to survive the harsh times, tracing kin lines long lost through the food stories they shared. Capable (compassionate) made friends and her friends worked at more than vehicle maintenance and war. The Wretched (no longer) taught them scavenging for edible and useful things in the wastes, easier with enough water for the having.
The shiny and chrome things that had been worshipped, the Dag (clever little Dag) turned into bright mirrors, sending light down to every place it was wanted, illuminating the water pits and the swimmers who kept them functional. Cheedo who had been Fragile (no longer needing to distract, to bend, to placate) looked into faces and the lines of bodies and made the connections between mothers and pups and workers, then matched more families to those who had no connections and needed them.
Furiosa, quiet and watchful, took the brands with Joe's mark on them, the shackles and the cages, put them in the furnace and with Valkyrie's help turned them into tools for the growers and harvesters, parts to fix pulleys and gears, burning the last of the blood out of the metal.
Angharad (gone, their shield and push) was in all of it, in the fed and quenched and found and freed, in the building and breathing and learning and growing. Her memory lived on in their home.