with a large bag slung over her shoulder and resting on her hip. She quietly nods in greeting to those individuals she can see and heads to the empty table beside her desk where she puts the bag in one of the seats and slips the strap off over her head. She moves another of the chairs over to the window where several bunches of herbs hang in the sun from what should be a curtain hanger. She begins taking down some of the herbs that appear fully dried and brings them back to the table where she lays them in a pile.
She then moves back to the large bag and opens it filling the room with the pungent aroma of dirt and fresh herbs. The bag has compartments filled with green leafy plants, gnarled roots and some very colorful flowers. She begins binding up and hanging some of the herbs on the now mostly empty curtain hanger. Once she hangs the last bunch, she replaces the chair at the table after dusting off the dirt from her boots.
Returning to the table, she begins to sort the dried and remaining fresh herbs into piles, sometimes adding the roots and flowers to different groups. The spare components she collects and adds to bins under the windowsill.
Going to the large wooden shelving unit behind her desk, she opens the door and begins removing glass flasks and some small glass bowls. She takes them back to the table and places a flask or bowl with each of the piles. Returning to the wooden closet, she retrieves two chests, closes the door and goes back to the table. She places the chests on either side of one of the seats and opens them. One contains various sized corks and the other contains small lids that appear to fit the glass bowls spread about the table. The gentle jingling of her wraps finally stops as she at last takes a seat at the table.
She selects a pile and pulls it to her along with the glass flask in front of it. Picking up one of the ingredients she holds it over the flask and begins to chant. The dried herb in her hand begins to shimmer and then seems to disintegrate into a fine green powder that flows into the flask. Without ceasing her chant she retrieves a gnarled root from the pile and holds it over the flask. It too shimmers and then turns into a golden tinted liquid that streams directly into the glass container below. She follows this process with each component in the pile. Some turn to liquid and some turn to powder but when every drop and speck is inside the flask she ends her spell, turns to the chest beside her, pulls out a cork and stoppers the flask.
She sets it aside and pulls the next pile to her.