Mikhail foresaw himself running into a tree.<br/><br/>This happened quite a lot. A little too frequently for his taste, actually. He didn't like the woods. If it wasn't the low hanging branches then it was the roots and the snaggly undergrowth. He must've looked like a crazed mess, he thought, and with a quick peer into the future he saw that yes, in fact, he did look like a crazed mess. A crazed mess who was about to hit a tree.<br/><br/>He swerved to the side, but didn't break pace. He knew the low, guttural growl of an animal when he heard it, and while it was true that he actually hadn't stuck around long enough to properly identify just what it was he was running from, at that moment he didn't particularly care. He had his cane grasped firmly in his hand, though it wasn't out in front of him to help with the terrain. At the speed he was traveling, he figured it wouldn't do much good.<br/><br/>Mikhail's backpack kept hitting him roughly in the back with each long stride he took, and he made a mental note not to carry as many cans as he did. Not only did they slow him down, but they also made for an uncomfortable bit of traveling. He was snapped back to the real world when a tangle of branches got him in the face, but he didn't stop. Rather, he tumbled into a clearing.<br/><br/>Unfortunately for Mikhail, he did not foresee a soft landing. He envisioned... Boxes? Crates? He didn't dwell on it long before he was met with it. If it wasn't for the wheelbarrow, he probably would have barreled through the group and into the woods again, but instead he tripped. Mikhail, along with the wheelbarrow, took a mighty tumble, and the Russian landed face down covered with boxes.<br/><br/>Once he regained his breath, he stopped breathing mud and turned his head disdainfully away from the ground. "Sorry about your," he paused, unsure of what it was that he had actually landed on. "Stuff? I was being chased." He decided to play it casually, almost friendly. He had absolutely no idea who he was dealing with.<br/><br/>He was too discombobulated to do anything but apologize, but for the most part he was unscathed. That couldn't quite be said for the boxes he had crushed. He unearthed both gloved hands from the pile and held them up in the classic surrender sort of way. "Guns? Don't shoot?"