He can hold his form into the sunlight, if he's awake to do so. He wasn't, this morning, instead curled up in his den with Damocles keeping their heat under the blanket.

The sun's up quite a ways when he steps out of the forest, arrowing for the Caribbean inlet. There's still blood in patches over his skin, places where he and Damocles missed cleaning last night. The clothes he's in are clean, though, if wrinkled. His shirt's on inside out and his jacket's hanging over one arm. The wind picks up, bringing her scent to him, and his head snaps up as he thrusts his nose into the breeze.

River! Damocles and he exclaim at once. The Doberman trots in her direction, Ryan not far behind. Both their mouths hang open in identical canine grins.