Foggy grins at the understanding that crosses the younger man's face. Most people have been there, when they've been stuck eating one thing for so long that they can't face anymore.

"Cookies... oh I've missed you, processed sugar. Thank you." He doesn't ask if Reynir is sure. The island taught him better. You accept offers graciously and return the favour when you can. He only takes one, enough to satisfy the craving and nothing more. He can actually make himself proper food like a sandwich. He hopes.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. We were on the island and were all meant to be sent where we asked to go. I was packed and everything, I have a bunch of crap with me, clothes, carpentry tools, my butcher's knives..."