Two nights passed before the curved mulga branch began to writhe and put out new sprouts. The new growth stretched out into four spindly legs, while the old twigs elongated into ribs. The bulbous end of the branch grew, forming first a cranium, then a snout. He tossed the teeth into the air and they swirled into place along the edges of the forked snout, growing in size as they did. Throat dry and voice cracking, he rose and changed the song. He strode to the clay, the stick beast capering at his side. Thrusting his hands past the dry upper layers of earth, he scooped out handfuls of the moist clay beneath and molded it around the wooden skeleton. He packed the beast with his purpose and magic. Slowly, it took on the shape of a lean hunting hound. Holding the head with one hand he gazed at the rough-hewn shape, featureless save for the mouth of sharp teeth.