“You’re welcome,” Pangaea replied simply. He knew it was a rare thing, to be thanked by Mr. Threehorn, and although he appreciated it, he couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed as well.
Removing the anesthetic tree stars that were in the way, he examined the spearhead stuck in Mr. Threehorn’s foot. It was embedded fairly deep, and while the wound was not bleeding much, Pangaea worried that he would cause more damage if he removed the stone point too quickly. He took a nervous breath, noting his intensified heartbeat. It seemed to him that he was more anxious than Mr. Threehorn was.
“Okay,” he said, willing his voice to be as calm as possible, “I’m gonna pull the rock out now. Try to stay as still as you can. Don’t move your foot until I tell you that it’s out.”
Carefully, Pangaea grasped both sides of the spearhead and began working it loose. It was stuck in quite firmly, and every second Pangaea worried that Mr. Threehorn would react to the pain and kick. If that happened, he would not only risk worsening his injury, but crippling his surgeon as well. Not wanting to think about that, Pangaea tried to think of what he was doing as merely extracting an oversized splinter from an equivalently enormous foot, hoping that that was what this injury equated to for Mr. Threehorn.
Pangaea couldn’t tell how long it took (to him it felt like forever, but he knew himself to be particularly bad at keeping accurate track of time), but eventually the spearhead came loose.
“Got it!” Pangaea exclaimed.