"The molting, I never did explain it." The shaman seems to retreat into himself, nervousness written into his body language. "I've spent a lot of time in animal forms, as much for the experience as to learn from them. I don't know if there's more to it than that; maybe I had a teacher, before ..." He shudders, leaving the loss of memory unspoken.
"Anyway, the molting itself ... doesn't feel quite like spells usually do. More personal, somehow." Eyes flick warily back and forth between the other two. This was it. This was where they decided he was something less.
He couldn't even identify why that fear had built up, just the seeming inevitability of the outcome. Regardless, the anxiousness brings out unconscious mannerisms. Hands paw at the ground, and he glances away, exposing his neck.