[As Hob lay backward Morpheus instinctively shifted to face him better. It left him sitting cross-legged, his posture still fairly perfect, as he studied the play of light and shadow across Hob’s face. After a moment, Morpheus wordlessly shrugged off his coat. It required a bit of finagling as he was sitting on the end of it, but he managed to gather it in his hands. Beneath he wore his simple black shirt. He offered the jacket to Hob, gesturing at the man’s head in a silent indication that Hob could use the jacket as a pillow if he wanted. After all, there was only hard ground and a thin blanket otherwise, unless he used his arm as a pillow instead.]

It’s… difficult to put into words, I suppose. When the first specks of life began to dream, I began to exist. My role and rule has always been to provide for and to protect dreamers. Every night, and it is always night somewhere, on some world, beings bring themselves to me. All their hopes and fears, their trials and triumphs. It is my responsibility to provide for them what they need so they are ready when they wake to face what they must. To create, or destroy. To exist with clarity and purpose of their own.