hob gadling thinking he is the moon only bright in the light of his all consuming stranger, a small man in scope and comparison. grand to any mortal, sure, but he's just the moon. not his stranger of many riches, stranger of great power, stranger who he believes granted him the eternal gift of life. someone so grand and magnificent he would recognize from presence alone. he couldn't possibly be anything but the sun.
dream thinking gadling is the sun because he is all that is warm and bright and lively that he is not. the spokesperson of the humanity that worships the daytime as he carries out his work under the dark cover of night. he the solemn sleep, always present but never noticed, is the cold and ever-changing moon. he revels in the warmth when they are together. he couldn't possibly be anything other than the sun.
















