It's colder here, but the air is thick with moisture. I never used to notice, but then I've also spent six years in a dry, arid climate where the day was contrasted sharply with the night.
There are most definitely people watching me as I ride towards the village. It is understandable, for I am wearing loose, white robes that cover my head and face as well as my body. They cannot see who I am. The trees bear old, unfamiliar scars and the sunlight seems somewhat... diluted. As I come up on the gate, it is noticeable that the gates and walls have been fortified, which makes my old, battered hitai-ate lie heavy on my throat.
I wonder what else is different.