White Flag

AWS

Feliciano was now Luciano.
And, of course, he continued to run.
With his knuckles turning white from clutching Roma's knife for hours on hand, Feli gritted his teeth and looked for a place to sleep.
Lovino's town was far behind him now; but the police would still try to follow him. They were getting closer, Feli could feel it in his empty gut.
Antonio's place was the only place he could think of where he could be safe. But there was one problem.
It was in another country.
(Spain, to be exact.)
That would mean traveling for maybe over a month. Still running from the police. As a fugitive. He'd have to find his own food and water. It was possible. Feli was taught a bit of hunting skills when he was younger. He had refused to kill the animals, so the teaching [attempt] was an utter failure. Then again, Lovino wasn't much better.
         Just the thought of the old lesson made Feliciano ache with homesickness. Every step he took was a step away from family. He let out a sigh.
        The scenery around the area was fairly pretty. The day was coming to an end, with hues of red and gold, even pink streaking like paint strokes across the cloudless sky. Feli jogged for a bit, working the stress out of his homesick heart. The day was not the only thing ending--Feliciano could see where the trees stopped from where he was. He went back maybe for five minutes and looked around. A large oak tree, about fifty years old, stood strong and quiet to the left of the younger, greener trees. Dead grass surrounded it. The tree had a...dent in the middle of it. It was shaped like a small ball, maybe a soccer one. Among the dead grass around the old tree thrived little red poppies. He hated to crush them, but Feliciano walked over to this plant and sat down with a thump. He leaned his head back into the cracked bark and slowly closed his eyes.