Sunlight

Prompt: Sunlight
Required Character(s): Snarl, who apparently has a pretty severe case of SAD.
Rating: K/G
Warnings for: A musing Steg. Hey, it could be considered scary!
Genre: Pointless Introspective Nonsense That Ultimately Means Nothing
A "wee" note, because it actually applies to this when usually it matters not at all: In Nightwind Land, Autobot Headquarters is in Arizona, not Oregon. Why? Watch the G1 episode "Fire in the Sky." See that snow-covered cactus that Hound crashes into early in the episode? That's a saguaro. They're pretty distinctive. I'm sure the animators didn't know this, but in the entire world, saguaros are native only to the Sonoran Desert, which is mostly in Mexico but stretches up to into southwestern Arizona and a teensy bit into extreme southeastern California in the US. So, I put AHQ in Arizona, albeit in northern Arizona, closer to the Grand Canyon (and thus not in the Sonoran Desert *shifty eyes*), the closest city being Flagstaff. Why do I do this? Well, mostly because I have to be different, you see. Plus, I was a TF fan long before I found out that AHQ is, according to the comics, in Oregon, and I'm afraid that it's just ingrained now.
Word Count (Not including this intro): 889

---

With a long and relieved sigh that was half groan, Snarl ponderously flopped down onto his side, in his stegosaur mode. The flop, to the casual observer, might have seemed random, but really it was precisely calculated to take advantage of the strong, slanting rays of the afternoon sun. The sun's warmth served to relax him and, after a few moments of blissful, peaceful basking, Snarl stretched out his legs, wiggling them almost happily. Occasionally, his spiked tail thumped the ground as if he was a huge, contented cat. And as he usually did while sunbathing, he let his mind wander. Sometimes he would contemplate nothing, his mind blank and meditative, and sometimes he would contemplate truly bizarre and even occasionally profound things.

Today, Snarl found himself simply reflecting that there were few things in the universe that made him happy. One of them was engaging in mortal combat. It was very strange, and he knew that he'd never understand it, but something about fighting in dire situations stimulated the bliss centers of his processors. And the more dire the situation and the more outnumbered he was the better He'd always wondered if this was something that Wheeljack or Ratchet had deliberately instilled in him or if he was just weird. He strongly suspected the latter, but he'd long since accepted the situation for what it was.

If nothing else, it made him a better fighter because he actually looked forward to fighting, sought out opportunities to do so regardless of the level of danger involved. In fact, the more dangerous the fighting was, the happier Snarl became. But at least he didn't go completely berserker crazy like a certain flame-throwing comrade of his. That was just, in Snarl's studied opinion, stupid. And he wasn't afraid to let Slag know it, either. This resulted in brawls, which resulted in more happy for Snarl; it was a deeply satisfying chain of events. Snarl smirked inwardly at the thought. In this, he knew, he and Slag thought exactly alike. For once.

The other thing that made Snarl happy was sunlight, and it wasn't just because he had the ability to assimilate solar power, thanks to the glittering array of solar-cell plates that ran in a dual row alongside the spine of his dinosaur form. The power boost was just a bonus. The happiness came from some ineffable something about sunlight. Its warmth, maybe. Or maybe it was the soothing and aesthetically pleasing way that sunlight could so easily and completely color the landscape in hues that ranged from bleached-white heat to calming pink dawn to blazing, awe-inspiring sunset. Whatever it was, Snarl liked it. Or rather, he apparently needed it.

Because conversely, any extended lack of sunlight tended to make Snarl…morose. A lack of sun made him decidedly cranky and short-tempered, occasionally enough so to rival Slag at his worst. Snarl was fortunate in that the Ark had chosen to crash itself smack in the middle of a climate zone that tended to favor sunlight, one of the rarer places on Earth where the sun reigned over clouds for the vast majority of the days that made up a year.

Usually, anyway. Except for during the past week. Every day of the past week had been, for northern Arizona, unusually wet and overcast. Which made Snarl miserable, more miserable than usual. So when the skies had finally, finally cleared, after what had seemed to Snarl like an unbearable and insupportable eternity, and the sun had finally edged its way out, steadily burning away the rest of the maddening cloud cover, Snarl had been quick to make a beeline for his spot.

"His spot" was its only name, the only name that he had ever called it, the only name that it had ever needed. Snarl had discovered it long ago, not long at all after his activation. It was a large clearing in the dense thickets of Ponderosa pine and scrub oak that otherwise surrounded Autobot Headquarters. The spot was close enough to Headquarters that, if he ran fast enough, he could return to it in a few minutes' time if he was needed to go kick some aft, but it was also far enough away that it could, indeed, be considered "away" from Headquarters. And, most gloriously of all, it was situated and aligned just so, so that on sunny days – as most of them were – it was bathed in optimal amounts of sunshine no matter what time of day it was.

Snarl visited his spot often. Daily, if possible. Several times a day, even, when he had leave to do so. Or sometimes he would simply never leave it, once he'd arrived. Sometimes he wished that he was never required to leave it. On the other hand, he was aware that if he was never required to leave his spot, then that would mean that the war was over. And that, in turn, would mean that he would lose fifty percent of his sources of happy.

Then again, Snarl mused, as his body fully relaxed in warm and contented bliss, drifting slowly and inexorably toward recharge, it would also mean that he could move to somewhere really sunny and really warm – like Tahiti, perhaps. And that, he thought, just might make up for the lack of mortal combat.

Well…maybe.