Princess Thistledown found the fairy king, swaying on the perch of a hummingbird feeder. Its nectar had fermented in the afternoon sun. Her father tipped forward, took a sip, then tipped back, and tumbled off. A drunken and disheveled raccoon happened to teeter across the porch, arresting the king’s fall. He hit the furry head and rolled down the raccoon’s back.

Dazed, the raccoon shook the king off, bared his teeth, and turned on the fairy with fingers curled into fists. The princess swooped in, but a voice stopped her. “Leave them to it. My father’s as drunk as yours. Eating spoiled holly berries, again.”

Princess Thistledown found a young, well-groomed raccoon sitting on the porch swing, knitting honeysuckle vines. She grumbled, “You’d think they’d learn better.”

“They learned we’d rescue them.”

“Unless we don’t.”

The raccoon pointed at the inebriated duo, staggering in a circle around one another. The king wielded a birch twig like a sword, while the raccoon hissed slurred curses. “I’ll bet you this honeysuckle scarf my dad passes out before yours.”

 “His thistle crown says mine goes down first.”

The fairy king lunged and missed. The raccoon swiped over the king’s head. Both lost their balance and hit the ground, promptly passing out.

Princess Thistledown landed beside the young raccoon. “Bet you a pair of spider silk mittens mine pukes before yours.”

“You’re on.” The raccoon offered her a handful of fresh holly berries, and they sat back and watched, wearing matching sly, berry-stained smiles.

Composti from photos by Chris Ensminger & Chris F