They came down the road every afternoon at the same time.
Three orcs and a blood-elf. Two of the orcs were brothers, Mei Lin thought, because they argued the way brothers argue. On the second afternoon they took a farmer's plums. On the third they kicked over a rain-barrel for no reason she could see. The farmer watched from her porch, arms crossed, fists at her sides, and did not move.
No lightning. Lightning would turn four bored bullies into a story the Horde remembered, and a story the Horde remembered came back with more of them. What she wanted was smaller. What she wanted was for them to take a different road.
On the fourth afternoon she walked down to the road and met them.
She stood in the middle of the path like a welcoming committee of one. Hands clasped. Bow prepared. Tea-smile ready. Her water totem tucked into her belt where they could see it and understand that it was not for them unless they made it for them.
The lead orc saw her first and slowed. "Move."
"Oh!" Mei Lin said, brightening like she had been waiting her whole life for this moment. "Are you the road inspectors? Finally. I've been trying to file a complaint for a week. There is a pothole about twenty paces back. Extremely Horde-unfriendly. Proper tripping hazard. I knew somebody would come."
The orc blinked. "What?"
"The road. Behind me. Hole. Serious infrastructure concern. I have been writing letters and no one answers. But here you four are, actually walking the route. Very thorough. Quality of Service, finally."
The blood-elf snorted. One of the brothers laughed and cut it off immediately when the lead orc glared at him.
"We are not road inspectors," the lead orc said.
"Are you sure? Because you walk exclusively on roads. Same road, same time, every afternoon. That is commitment. That is rigour. No one walks this road like you four."
There it is. The second brother smiled. The blood-elf looked up at the sky like he was praying for a sudden, merciful rain.
"Move," the lead orc said again.
"Move where? That is my second concern. I am trying to help. The local water spirits have begun to complain. They are sensitive, water spirits. They track every set of boots that comes through the valley, and yours come through at such a regular schedule that it is starting to feel almost decorative. If I were you I would mix it up. The next valley over has a lovely pond view. Better light. Fewer farmers. Fewer plums."
The lead orc took half a step closer. Mei Lin did not move. She did tilt her head and smile the smile grandmother had once called the about-to-be-punny smile. It was a smile she had practised.
"About the plums," she said. "That was shameful, honestly. If you are going to steal plums, at least steal them from someone who is not standing on her porch watching you with her arms crossed. That is not banditry. That is theft with poor manners. You are better than this. Marginally. Measurably. If I round up."
The blood-elf actually laughed. The second brother said, "She has got a mouth," in the tone of someone remarking on the weather.
"Thank you," Mei Lin said. "I have been told. Grandmother used to say my mouth was my first totem. She said it like a compliment. I am taking it as one."
The lead orc was, Mei Lin could see, running out of intimidation. Intimidation works when the target goes quiet. It wilts when the target keeps talking.
"I am not going to fight you," she said, "because fighting is loud and I have a headache. I am also not going to move, because moving sends the wrong message. What I am going to do is suggest, warmly, that you take the next valley over. You will love it. The pond is beautiful. The farmers there have even worse plums. It is a win for everyone involved. Especially the plums."
The lead orc stared at her for a long moment. Then, without looking at his patrol, he said, "We are going."
"Excellent decision. Road quality remains my top concern, so please do send a written complaint to the Pandaren Grievance Office. Which does not exist. But I can draft the forms if needed, I have a beautiful hand."
They were already walking.
She watched them up to the fork. They turned left. The next valley. The blood-elf looked back once over his shoulder. She waved. He did not wave back.
Rude. Probably a reader, though.
The farmer on the porch came down off her steps and hugged Mei Lin without a single word. The farmer's arms were very strong. Mei Lin's ribs would remember this hug for three days.
Down in the stream below, a water spirit pressed a cold curl against her ankle in the way that spirits have of saying we saw that.
"I know," she said to it. "It was not very nice. It was not very mean either."
The spirit did not argue. Spirits rarely argue. They wait.
She ate a pear on the walk back up the hill. Sticky down the wrist, the way Pandaria pears are. Somewhere down in the valley, the farmers were putting their plums back on the trees.
— Mist