Eleven

She nods. That's easy enough, she thinks. She continues twirling the rock, at as close to the same pace as she can. It isn't long, though, before she feels it start to waver in her psychic grasp. Blood begins to trickle from her nose, but she pushes herself to hold it a little longer. She grits her teeth. She has to throw it.

With a grunt, she does, both arms swinging towards the water as she sends the rock flying. It's not nearly as far as she would like, but it feels like real practice, and that's what she's here for.