Yeee!!! It feels like spring up here and it's so thrilling!! Sorry, I'm excited, lol... Well, here is chapter 34! Sorry in advance for typos! Have a great weekend! Blessings, A. R. -----------------------------------------------------------      Dylan kicked open the door to a two story house on the edge of the sixth district. It was dark, save a few lamps, as he made his way through the house towards the kitchen.      He stumbled into the kitchen, his eyes falling on the empty table. He carefully laid Laurel onto it, looking around frantically.      “Kenneth!” He shouted, unable to find towels or anything to wipe away the blood that continued to ooze from Laurel’s abdomen.      A bleary but wide-eyed buck stumbled into the kitchen with a lamp in hand, his shirt untucked and loose from his trousers. He sighed when he saw Dylan.      “Walters, what are you doing? I’ve been up since before sunrise and am desperate for bed.” He grumbled, rubbing his eyes and turning to return to his bedroom.      “Kenneth, please! I need help. She’s hurt and-"      Kenneth stopped and glanced at the helpless looking form on his table. “She’s an outwaller.” He pointed out, yawning into his hand.      Dylan tried to keep from shouting. “Kenneth, she could be dying! Please!”      The doctor shrugged, heading down the hall again. Dylan lost his temper.      “If you don’t help me, I’ll send you and your whole family on a platter to Morbin himself!” He roared.      A few seconds later, Kenneth slumped back into the kitchen, a neat pair of glasses on his face. He grimaced as he came up beside Dylan.      “If my kits heard you, I can assure you that there will be screaming aplenty to entertain you.”      Dylan stared right back at the rabbit. “Kenneth, please.” He begged, his voice low and cracking.      The rabbit sighed and set the light down, rolling up his sleeves as he looked at Laurel. “Light up that fire, would you?” He asked, holding the lamp closer to the unconscious does stomach.      Dylan threw some wood into the fireplace and had it blazing in no time, its light filling the small kitchen.      “Darby?” A voice asked cautiously.      Dylan and Dr. Kenneth turned to see an older doe wrapped in a shawl, staring at the injured rabbit on the table, her eyes wide. She looked back to Dylan, drawing a shaky breath.      “Darby, what’s going on? I heard shouting; and why-"      Kenneth motioned the doe into the kitchen. “Margaret dear, I’m going to need some help. I’ll need my medical bag and plenty of sheets and hot water. We need to get this surgery underway if she has any chance of survival.” He said quietly, beginning to cut away the matted fabric.      The doe – Margaret – took one more look at the captain standing in her kitchen before turning down the hall. She returned almost instantly, a bag in one hand and folded linens in the other.      Kenneth glanced at Dylan who stood across from him, looking worriedly from Laurel to the doctor.      “Walters, go sit down. You’re in rough shape.” Kenneth instructed, opening his bag and pulling out some tools and instruments for the surgery.      Dylan stared at him. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll help.”      Kenneth snorted and shook his head as his wife came to his side and helped him prepare for the operation. “Right… at least hold a light, then.”        Dylan held the light for a long time. He didn’t know how long, but he knew it had to have been at least two hours. Regardless how long it was, he watched and waited; begging, praying.      Dr. Kenneth worked diligently at stopping the bleeding. His brow was furrowed in concentration and he hardly spoke, except for when he asked for something.      Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Darby Kenneth stitched up the incision and wrapped a thick bandage around Laurel’s waist and overtop the wound. He wiped his blood stained hands on a towel and sighed, looking up at Dylan.      “The bleeding has stopped; but she has to rest easy for a couple days, or else the operation will have been for nothing.” He looked at his wife, gave her a smile, then began to gather up the stained linens. “Now get out of here.” He told Dylan, glancing at him.      Dylan blinked. “What?”      Kenneth drew an agitated breath. “I said get out of here. Take her with you.”      Dylan tried to remain calm and took a deep breath. “But you said-"      Kenneth rounded on him and stood nose to nose with the captain. “Look, I did what you asked. But I have my family to think about. Take her and go. I need to sleep,” he grunted, finishing up the clean up.      Dylan knew he had crossed the line in waking up the doctor and getting him to do a surgery at this time of night. He knew better than to ask any more of him and his family.      Dylan looked around for his satchel, remembering with a scowl that he hadn’t brought it with him like he thought. It had a cloak in it.      Margaret came back into the kitchen with a blanket. She gave Dylan a small smile and helped wrap it around Laurel. “She’ll be alright, Captain.”      Dylan could only nod as the doctor’s wife continued to tidy up her kitchen. He then looked back at Laurel who was so quiet. Her face was bruised and slightly swollen, but she looked so peaceful.      He took a deep breath before picking her up in his arms. She moaned slightly, turning her face towards his chest.      “Hang on, let’s get you home,” he whispered, heading towards the door and leaving the doctors house.      He walked through the bare streets of Akolan, the air cold and close. Despite the blanket, Laurel shivered in his arms.      Dylan grimaced, trying to hurry his pace. He had to get her out of the cold and into bed.      He nearly smiled with relief when he approached her home. He kicked open the door and headed through the main room to the hall, turning right. He remembered from a couple weeks ago that he had investigated this house to ensure no one was listening to them. He somehow knew that the small room was Laurel’s.      He carefully laid her on the bed and drew the blanket up to her chin. She sighed in her sleep, a slight smile on her face.      Dylan watched her, his adrenalin finally slowing and exhaustion setting in.      He rubbed his eyes and leaned against the wall, sighing. What a horrid day.      Vitton had told him this was his fault. Was it? It must’ve; Vitton had hit him hard by hurting those closest to him.      He groaned as he sat down on the ground, burying his face in his hands. How would he tell Laurel about Fern's death? Would she blame him?      He looked up at her, anxiety building in his stomach. He could still hear Fern’s words to him. Take care of her. He wanted to. So badly. But how could he when he was the one getting her in trouble?      Dylan felt sick. He needed some air before talking with her when she woke up. He also would need some back up.      He got to his feet, but before leaving, he tucked the blanket closer to her. Her breathing was quiet, but made the house sound normal.      Dylan reached out his hand to smooth her fur, but stopped, clenching his hand into a fist. Shaking his head and cursing to himself, he headed down the hall, through the living room, and out the door. He had to complete his few errands quickly, before Laurel woke up. He had to be there to tell her, no matter how painful it would be.