One or two hours had passed since Chris Rature landed south of Veyrhold, and if Eldervale had intended to humble him at the beginning, it had failed to do so.
Compared to what many of the scattered second-years were likely enduring, Chris knew he had been dealt a stronger hand. His group had formed quickly after arrival, not because every student had landed neatly beside him, but because enough of them had appeared within a workable radius and responded well once he started giving orders.
Seventeen students with few injuries and no immediate dead weight. Several capable fighters, one healer-support student, one archer, an Earth Magic user, a few Tempestian students already inclined to listen to him, and Logan, who was many things Chris found useful when those things were aimed correctly.
It was not perfect.
It was better than most.
Chris understood that, and he used it.
