By the time Vincent goes looking for the chimeric SOLDIER, it's been long enough that there's full dark for the most part, save the sulfur yellow glow of a single bare bulb strung up on a scavenged wire and socket dangling underneath the cloth covering of the bed of the transport truck.

Sephiroth could, and sometimes did, sleep in the beds the convoy provided. But more often than not he preferred his privacy, and for all that he could see better than most in the dark, other things required at least a little light. But with the back zipped shut, it's impossible to tell from that dim glow if the being within is a man or a theropod.

But he has in the intervening time, figured out how to regain a more human shape. More human, not exactly so, but it's better than it was, and as metal raps against metal from within is a brief rustle of cloth instead of whisper of feathers, and the zip down the back undone in a purr of shifting metal. "Yes?"

Wounds linger, shrunk to fit his current size. Galian left its mark, and they would in time heal. Eventually.