It wasn't that the world was any different; more that he was seeing it from a different height. Leaves were more beautiful, the grass splayed beneath his feet. More stable underneath him.
The sun wouldn't have bothered him as much if he was to come outside in it.
Things seemed so much easier to him in this body. Simpler. Problems didn't seem as hard when you were a stag. Rounding up a werewolf seemed like child's play almost.
It seemed sometimes, when he really thought about it, that he was looking through different eyes. Put he wasn't really. He was different.