Prowl did some of his best tactical planning while sitting in a graveyard.
In a way he had done the same while still on Cybertron. Planning battles was his life and core programming, and what better place to do it than on recent battlefields, often still covered with the deactivated shells of friends and foes. Others thought he was unfeeling to be able to walk with seeming disinterest through the dead. But for Prowl it was a reminder of what he was fighting for, feeling the pain of loss for each and every fallen Autobot, and some measure of pity for the fallen Decepticons. They were all Cybertronians, all fighting for a better future as seen through their own ideals. But those deactivated faceplates all staring up at him with darkened optics kept him focused and able to fight the next battle. At his core he hated the killing and eternal battles of Megatron's civil war. Even the fallen had to be stripped for parts rather than have traditional monuments built to entomb them. It was the final indignity to a war filled with indignities. There were no innocents left on their home world, and now the planet itself was a giant corpse floating in the vastness of space.
And now he was here on Earth, seated on a very alien grassy knoll, surrounded on all sides by simple stone reminders of those tiny organics who had come before. Humans were so different from his own kind and their lives only lasted moments compared to his, but they lived so vibrantly. Humans shone like a supernova with their zest for life, leaving Prowl feeling so old and empty in comparison. But he needed that reminder of what life felt like in its youth, before war stole the joy and passion that made things worth going on for another day. His kind was blessed and cursed by their long lives. Many simply faded away after eons of fighting, becoming literal ghosts. But these humans just attracted him with their life force, and by basking in their luminescence he felt his own spark being renewed.
And perhaps he wasn't the only one to experience this either. These days Jazz insisted in accompanying him to his graveyard planning sessions. Jazz admired the humans for many things, and happily stood by his friend even in the midst of their ghosts. It was the only time Jazz refrained from playing his music, those walks through the burial grounds of their allies. It was his sort of tribute, and neither put their feelings into words. They both saw how humans filled each moment to the brink with life and then let it all spill out into the lives of others. In the end, the humans needed them to survive the Cons, but the Autobots needed the humans to teach them how to really live.