Attempting to inject a bit of levity into the conversation, he said, "I'm sure I deserved it, if not from her than from someone else. I have a feeling that slap was a long time coming." He rolled his shoulders, trying to make the tension and chaotic energy leave him. Although he felt his shoulders loosen, the action did not calm him any. He forced himself to sit regardless, taking a seat at the foot of the bed but turned to face Imenry. The false joking expression slid off his face as he settled in to have a serious and heartfelt conversation with his dearest friend.
"You thought I was dead? I thought you were dead! By the gods, Imenry...I thought everyone was gone. I cannot remember how I got away, but I've been- I don't really know what I've been doing. I did not really have a purpose, but now that you are here. Now that I know you are alive I am not going to leave." Unless she did not want him, of course, but he did not even think that. His undying loyalty to his friends allowed him to pick back up where they left off even though years and hundreds of miles had gone by since they had last met.
Brennan wanted to ask about the others, if there was anyone else who still lived. He barely stopped himself from saying the words, dying to know but paradoxically wanting to remain ignorant. It was such an old daydream of his, and he clung to the mental image of survivors rebuilding the village as if it was his last straw. To have that dream shattered would be painful, but see if fulfilled would bittersweet. Sweet because it was still his home, even if it lay in ruins or flourished, bitter for he did not think that he could go back. It would never be the same as the village that lived only in his memories.
Brennan raised his arms in an aborted move, wanting to grab hold of Imenry and hold her close. To reassure himself one more time that she was real, flesh and bone and the spirit that only Imp had.