“Will you scream before you die?” Anna asked him quite seriously, the tendril of water whipping back and forth in mid-air off to his left as he regained his feet. “You’ll need more than a sword for that.”

Her left hand splayed outwards as her right traced the movements of the tendril, almost as if conducting a symphony. The delicate fingers of her outstretched hand curled inwards and she lifted her palm, clenching her hand into a fist. At her command the water-logged sand beneath the pirate’s feet popped outwards and then washed away, creating two small sink holes directly underneath where he stood. Simultaneously, the watery tendril lurched towards Anna and when it separated the two of them it swung back to strike the man on his front as he hopefully became entrapped by the sink holes with the same sweeping motion as before.