Above the now ever-present smell of death, Blind Seer scented someone familiar and matched a name to it: Robin of Locksley, the one who had first spoken with he and Firekeeper after they had arrived.
For her part, Firekeeper hadn't noticed him yet. She had barely noticed anything yet, except her own hunger. A need for raw meat, for... brains. She was still moving with her usual predator grace, for the moment--rot hadn't set in yet to tear her muscles and skin. Her senses were somewhat less than they'd been previously, though, as tissues broke down and died and were not repaired.
Blind Seer looked up at her anxiously and saw no reaction to the new scent. He nudged at her with his considerable bulk to try and steer her away, but she would pause, wait for the annoyance to pass, and continue. Well, if that wasn't working... he cursed the inability of other humans to understand his speech and sprinted for Robin, not barking lest he draw the attention of Firekeeper or the dead-not-dead like her. Perhaps the two-legs could be made to understand the danger despite the language barrier.