Half of them are already wilting.

[Jaheira crosses her arms as she surveys the mortals who've been herded into the hall, pale eyebrows lifted in obvious skepticism, though there's a hint of concern layered beneath it. The Blue Crone, as some of the cheekier novices occasionally call her when they think no one's listening, has never quite liked the fate that awaits the less adept of their crop of students.]

If none of them have to be fished out of the forest before classes for the season begin, I may drop truly dead of shock.