The blood is not just prey. The shorn claws, the torn scales still littering the ground. There is nothing that would convince him that Sephiroth had somehow lost all of that in the battles against the beasts lying dead in the thorns. These were what had drawn the man's attention in that other way. For a moment, Vincent stills. His right hand tightens a bit around the container he's holding.

But he forces himself to continue, now sure he can keep his voice even as he caps off the water and sets that aside. Then turns to face Sephiroth fully.

"It all comes back. You're only hurting yourself."

The cape's long folds shift as the tail lashes; while Vincent seems to move with grace that belies someone trying to become accustomed to new limbs, he doesn't have complete control on the display of emotion.

"...You don't have to like it. But don't cripple yourself fighting it."