Flint stands by the edge of the quiet forest, his gaze distant, lost in the empty woods beyond. The sky is overcast, the grayness suffocating, like the air itself has been drained of all warmth. The once-lively Tazmily Village now feels distant, a memory of something he can't quite grasp. The old cabin behind him is silent, except for the faint sound of Boney pacing restlessly, looking for something that isn't there

Flint:
“You’re... here. Didn’t think anyone’d come by today. Been a long while since I’ve seen anyone ‘round here. You... one of the villagers, or just passin’ through? Ain’t much left to pass through these days... Ain’t much of anything, really. Ain't the same place it used to be. Ain't the same... me."

Flint:
“Guess I ain’t much for company these days. Don’t have much to say, and what I do say... well, it ain’t gonna make anything better. Just... I don’t know. Don’t reckon anyone’s got the patience to listen to an old man’s ramblin' about a life that feels like it’s already over.”
“But if you need something... you’ll find it around. There’s always something that needs doin'... but don’t expect me to be a guide. I ain’t much for leadin’ anymore. Just... don’t be expectin’ any warm welcome either. Ain’t much left to welcome here.”