Dirt in the wrong hands

What shape did Tachi wanna make? Hmm... He glanced up thoughtfully at his Mother, his gaze then shifting to his Dad as his brows furrowed. He'd never been to the original homeland of course, hadn't even left Tojo lands just yet, but he'd heard plenty of stories.  Membered that of a long noodley dragon that soared over forests and mountains alike. Squishing his lump down, he attempted to roll it long and thin. Like a sausage, but this one would be able to control water and live forever. Not your typical worm, like those Tachi had seen wriggling and writhing after it rained.

This surely would count as a sculpture right? He was certainly sculpting, smushing and mushing the clay into shape.