It was uncertain what drove the Russian male towards the other side of the land known to his family thus far. It could have been the fact that he had yet to see the what those places heralded for him. The sunflower field, while filled with the dead remains of the plants, had been a random lucky chance to meet the mate - lover? - of a family member not terribly well known of by Anatoliy. While there existed an apparently strong lingual barrier, it had not been too hard to get his point across. Maybe know he could find a place without the chance meeting of a native, or worse yet, a foreigner who would simply work with him in making some bizarre multilingual sign language.
Of course the sea pulled him unlike any other. It was in his blood, simple as that. The boat on the way here had not upset him, but that could have been a fluke occurrence since he had fallen asleep before it deported. But the sea, a genetic mistress, called him and played its most valuable card; his affection for it. While the Russo was not a fisherman by trade, he could fish like any other man, or woman when talking about one of his aunts - or was it great aunts? -, in the family. Whatever the motivation, Anatoliy crossed across a rather large amount time that included holing up in an abandoned cabin when the snow grew a bit too frisky for his liking. Why he went out during flurries of snowfall, he did not care. It just meant that fewer people would be about. Most likely, at least.
In a strip of water, which he safely assumed was a peninsula or perhaps long island, the earthen hued male watched the sea. A salty breeze reminded him of home and gave him a desire to fish. But he was without fishing rod, net, or even a long strand of strong string. What a pity, for there had been scores of big enough streams and ponds on the way back to Halifax.