Leif gave a grunt in reply to the robot head telling him it couldn't sense his direction; he had hoped it could, but wasn't expecting much—it was just a head, after all. [color=fff79a]"Feend as in Feendz, the owner of the scrap yard?"[/color] he asked. [color=fff79a]"I think I can do that for you. What should I call you?"[/color] Leif replied. He had hoped to work with the gnome in the future, making him a regular contact, but he wouldn't be opposed to letting a still-sentient construct have its say instead. He doubted that bringing both the memory disc and the conscious head—especially with the head's information—would make him welcome back at the gnome's shop. He gave a shudder; it seemed not just the head but nearly every piece of scrap was still alive and aware in some manner. What a way to go: rotting in a yard like this. He gingerly reached down to pick the head up and head off in the direction it indicated as they went, careful to keep it away from his bow string and anything it might catch on, carrying it more like a football tucked into his arm then anything else.