The noise has Soldat coming further into the scrapyard than they usually do on their patrol, investigating, making sure Dog hasn't gotten anyone holed up somewhere. "Hey, hey. It's okay, pal. What's--"

Oh, there it is. The noise from the ice pick is hard to miss when the dog spirit drops to a whine and comes wiggling up for petting, and following it to spot Rosinante isn't hard from there. "Rosinante," they call over, "you might as well wait until it melts on its own."