One Stab: Tristan died in 1963. The moon of the popping trees. He was last seen up in the North Country, where the hunting was still good. His grave is unmarked, but it does not matter. He had always lived in the borderland anyway, somewhere between this world and the Other.
Tristan: Samuel, God bless you. You are good at everything you try to do. I'm sure it'll be the same with fucking.
Samuel: Tristan, really. We're talking about my future wife.
Tristan: Oh, you're not gonna fuck her?
Samuel: No! I'm planning to be with her.
Tristan: I recommend fucking.