Canon Endgame
It is a meadow on the hill, undisturbed and quiet. A large buck toro grazes at the far end. Violets carpet the ground, and a little stream runs behind the cabin. The air is crisp, and clean, as though no-one has so much as thought to build a fire in days...and utterly without the smell of exhaust such as industry produces. There is a hollow in the ground, a year old, exactly the size for one woman and one fleethound to curl up nose to flank. The road is something that Ironhide won't have problems navigating...but it certainly isn't a modern one.