Ragnar had not meant his coy smirk to come across as mocking, though it was understandable how it might have. It was a trademark thing that he did so half of the time he did not even realize the muscles of his muzzle had lifted to form it. In this case, it was when the cream colored boy let out an indignant snort. He had began to answer how long he had been alone but never actually got around to finishing the sentence not that Ragnar had actually asked given that it had been rhetorical but the amount of time really didn’t matter. He was alone and he was a loner; and if the grumble his stomach had just let lose, — a soft sound that he might not have heard if the birds cawing in the distance were any closer — was of any indication. Ragnar was silent for a bit, his ears, scarred and unscarred cupped towards the youth as he spoke, resisting the soft smile that threatened to pull at the edges of his lips when the boy insisted his parents had let him travel reminding him of Sköll in a small manner, before he lingered on the boy’s name in his thoughts. Atreyu.
Ragnar wasn’t so confident his accent wouldn’t butcher it a little, but the boy had heard him speak enough to hopefully understand that the Northman’s accent wouldn’t make his name sound as pretty as the common tongue did. For now, Ragnar decided not to touch upon the rumbling of the youth’s stomach focusing on the equally as important question he had instead.
Ragnar wasn’t going to take his freedom of choice away from him but the Northerner figured it never hurt to put all the options on the table, just in case.