The house that Wanda calls a home in the Tertiary Settlement was, a few months back, an abandoned mess, with leaks on the roof and one too many broken tiles. It's a cramped space, made even more busy by Wanda's idea of decoration: hanging herbs from the rafters of the low ceiling, curtains and carpets draped over doorways and floors and most other surface, while pots, candles, trinkets and ingredient-filled jars adorn tables and shelves. Upstairs, where the criss-cross of the triangular-shaped ceiling meets, is a quiet space where she can rest.

It's all, seemingly, a mess, but Wanda understands herself within the chaos.

Now and then, neighbors in the tertiary settlement will drop in with a few items to trade; for a particular species of mushrooms that she is favoring or abandoned pupa of dragonflies that still cling to leaves. It makes for an excuse to have the rowdy children head out into an expedition by the cliffside, away from the beach, from the leviathans that either come too close to or wash up on the shore.

Tinctures, tisanes, treatments, tonics—fishermen have lesions to care for, butchers need their energy replenished quicker than a night's sleep can offer, the elderly plead for calming antidotes. Additionally, Wanda gets a few young couples and love-entrenched individuals, looking for good-luck charms, love philtres, aphrodisiacs, cosmetics. She passes no judgement as she hands over the vases and vials. Children come wanting to exchange their findings—generally the wrong kind of insect and an odd flower bud—for fruit preserves, for square-shaped dainties covered in sugar and honey.