As soon as the Ritemaster begins his procedure, Jacqueline's hand moves with a fluid alacrity, creating flowery and elegant cursive most appreciated in calligraphy classes and the occasional letter over anything else in life. With brief notes in shorthand and small and surprisingly detailed sketches. The procedure of it all was fascinating, the cleansing of wounds, the chanting. It all seemed very final, and for magic that could literally bring a dying wolf back to life, it was astounding.
"Chanting, I can do that... I'll be honest with you, I haven't had a major opportunity to howl and I'm sort of embarrassed to do it, so the less I have to deal with howling, the better. I sure make a great Cahalith, huh?." A moment of weakness and slight shame washed over Jacqui's face before she realized her train of thought, turned as red as a beet, and hides under her notepad.
"I'm grateful for this, by the way, I know a lot of the Uratha prefer to keep in their oral history, so learning this through books is impossible. A lot of ritemasters are a lot less approachable. Maybe it's a tradition thing... Some don't see the reason in teaching Rites to those not born under the Crescent Moon."