Lore drop: Tern Sundrops
Carvers of the Riftwood Expanse
In the fractured wilderness of the Riftwood Expanse, deep within the Drosk Princedom, forests rarely grow untouched. Cliffs shear away without warning, ravines swallow rivers whole, and fog settles thick along the gullies where sunlight struggles to reach the ground.
Yet scattered throughout this harsh terrain are signs of deliberate design.
Perfectly shaped openings pierce living trees, clean and symmetrical, as though carved by careful hands. When sunlight passes through them, the forest fills with falling shapes of gold.
These are sundrops, and they are the work of a bird.
The Tern Sundrop is a medium-sized canopy dweller adapted to one of Hemera’s most unstable landscapes. At a glance it resembles a lean forest tern, though its wings are shorter and broader, built for sudden directional changes rather than long-distance flight.
Its coloration blends seamlessly with Riftwood bark. Ash greys, muted browns, and faint streaks of moss-green allow the bird to vanish the moment it settles against a trunk.
Only movement reveals it.
And movement usually means carving.
Unlike woodpeckers, which hammer into trees through repeated impact, the Tern Sundrop cuts.
Its beak is narrow, hardened, and slightly hooked, supported by powerful neck muscles that allow controlled slicing motions. The bird works methodically, shaving thin layers of wood away in precise arcs. Chips fall silently to the forest floor as the opening deepens.
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Hours later, a shape emerges.
Always the same.
A tapered oval narrowing toward a single point, resembling a falling droplet of light. The birds return to this geometry again and again, regardless of tree species or trunk angle.
The reason remains uncertain.
Once completed, the sundrop transforms the tree itself.
Sunlight streams through the opening, illuminating interior bark and warming the cavity within. Insects gather quickly in the exposed sap. The Tern Sundrop feeds as it works, extracting larvae and soft-bodied prey uncovered during excavation.
Later, the hollow serves as shelter.
Rain drains cleanly through the tapered lower edge. Wind passes without tearing the cavity apart. Even during the violent storms common to the Riftwood cliffs, these openings remain structurally stable.
Whether by instinct or evolution, the shape works.
At sunrise and sunset, entire groves come alive with light.
Low-angle sun pours through dozens of sundrops at once, projecting glowing teardrop patterns across fog and stone. From distant plateaus, the forest appears punctured by falling sunlight, as though the canopy itself were leaking brightness into the ravines below.
Travelers often mistake the effect for artificial construction.
It is entirely natural.
Tern Sundrops rarely gather in large flocks. Individuals or pairs move quietly between carving sites, selecting trees along cliff edges or mist-heavy valleys where insect populations thrive. Their flight is sharp and angular, allowing them to weave effortlessly through dense branches and unstable terrain.
Predators struggle to track them.
When danger approaches, the bird simply slips sideways into foliage and disappears.
Their work reshapes the ecosystem around them.
Abandoned sundrops become nesting spaces for smaller animals. Reptiles bask in warmed openings. Insects colonize sap-lined interiors. Over time, some heavily carved trees weaken and collapse, contributing to the shifting, broken landscape that defines the Riftwood Expanse.
The bird does not destroy the forest intentionally.
It edits it.
In a region defined by collapse and erosion, the Tern Sundrop leaves behind something unexpected.
Order.
A repeating geometry cut into living wood, catching sunlight in a land where light is often scarce. The birds neither defend nor display their creations. They simply move on, carving another tree somewhere deeper in the fog.
Long after the bird has gone, the forest continues to glow through the shapes it preferred to make.