Despite the fact that he had been on his way out of the town just that morning, he found himself still in the village now. The reason for this abrupt reversal was something that he barely dared to believe. Imenry was alive. He could scarcely believe it, but at the same time he would be a fool to not believe what was before his very eyes. The past few hours had been a strange mixture of the good with the bad, as he reveled in the return of his friend and learned of what happened to their home.
His memories of the attack were vivid at times and fuzzy at others, trailing off at the end altogether. Considering the nasty gash that started just at his temple and went back into his hair, he figured that he had taken a blow to the head. One moment, he could remember his mother falling in battle, of his fevered desire to make sure that at least everyone else lived through the fight, and then nothing until he was some ways away from the village. The would might have scabbed over and healed, to the point that the scar barely showed, but the memories never returned to him. Than again, he had never tried particularly hard to recall them either.
His first concern now was seeing that his good friend was doing alright. He knew her well enough to tell at a glance when she was bothered. While the others might have been haggard from lack of sleep, Brennan was doing his best to be the cheer that their group desperately needed. Even after waking up so early in the morning and staying up so long the night previous, he was filled with a frenetic energy. Partly it was due to the fact he had a solid anchor to another person not based on lies and deception and partly it was because he was desperate to prove to himself that this was not a fade deception.
They stayed close, talking in the smithy until interrupted by the arrival of someone that Brennan had not yet met. He thought that her clothes were oddly familiar, as if he had seen the design before, but otherwise kindled no recognition. His attention was diverted from the woman when Imp nudged him for his attention. He retaliated in kind before answering her inquiry, "Are you saying someone needs to hold my hand so I don't wander off?" As was his usual, he was jesting. Being serious took too much effort, so why do it? Besides, it would take much more than the prospect of going flower picking with a few girls to separate him from Imenry.
Although not he did not study herbs, he knew enough to find the few that he could make into poison. An odd profession, perhaps, coming from someone who lived in a village that was mostly unaccosted by the rest of Thedas for centuries, but he found the concept interesting and studied it for no other reason. It was not until he came to the lowlands that he found a use for it. Some would actually pay him to make such concoctions for them, and although the concept of currency took some getting used to it was his only occasional source of income.