Hudson had known the warhammer of old, though it had come as a chock to see it here and now. He'd thought their kind long dead in this modern world. The lass even looked like the Viking who'd born the hammer in Hudson's day, though she lacked the battle scars.
Give it time… Hudson found himself thinking as he studied the rawboned face. Their kind gathers scars the way Goliath gathers books.
"I believe a welcome drink is in order." Hudson said, releasing Brunhilde's arm.
"Best idea I've heard all day." The Arab in the group said.
"Amen." Dingo murmured fervently, relaxing… but only a little.
The new Pack and the gargoyles circled around each other like two packs of wolves that had not yet decided if they were going to fight or not. Lexington had flat out refused to see them (and was currently occupying himself elsewhere), and Goliath and Broadway were out on patrol, leaving Angela and Brooklyn (along with Fox, as David had wisely decided to retreat) to play host. Hudson and Brunhilde had settled themselves in a corner and were talking like old friends.
Fox found herself comparing the new Pack with the old. Not one of these kids could hope to match up to her, of course. Or the rest of the altered Pack, for that matter.
The new Jackal was a swarthy Arab with a nose you could hang a coat on and a far off look in his dark eyes. He was long limbed and had a beard that was tightly wrapped, like one might see on an Ancient Egyptian fresco.
The new Hyena was a stocky woman blue black skin, a South African accent, wild dreadlocks, and ritual scars on her face and arms. She laughed wildly at something the Jackal said, throwing her head back to reveal very sharp looking white teeth. At least she had the right kind of laugh.
The Lion was another African, though his accent spoke of an upper class education abroad. He kept to himself, sniffing with disgust as Hyena laughed.
And there was the new Wolf. She could have been a Valkery with her Nordic features and massive frame. She was the only one to come armed – and with a hammer of all things! An open challenge if ever there was one.
The last time Fox had seen her, she'd been a schoolgirl in pigtails and pleats.
"They make me feel right old sometimes." Dingo sighed.
"You? Old? Never." Fox said with a grin.
"I thought all yer kind gone from th' world." Hudson said, his eyes going from the bone pendant engraved with the rough half moon symbol to the girl's face.
"Nearly so." She said. "We have no liking for cities, though a rare few choose them for their hunting grounds." She cocked a hand, pointing in a very vague way. "There's a Sept in the Park. I could get you an introduction, if you wish."
"I'm surprised I've not noticed yer kind there. As I recall… yer people were nae exactly… subtle."
"Times have changed. The Weaver and the Wyrm choked the world, and force us to fight from the deepest shadows. But knowing the gargoyles still live gives us all some hope."
"I know the weapon ye carry, lass. I once did battle beside its wielder."
The girl touched the handle of the warhammer gently, a far off look in her eyes, as if she were staring into some great distance. "She remembers you too, warrior." She said, her voice hollow. "It is a sad memory. You battled those who had once been the White Howlers."
"T'was th' only time I e're took th' side of the Vikings o're my friends." Hudson said sadly.
"They were your friends no longer. They were Wyrmspawn in friends' skin." She laid a rough hand over Hudson's own. "You did what had to be done, for your clan's protection."
"I know, lass. I know."