I did not get up with Ellwood Cyrene. Nor did I leave the taproom at that time. There were too many people who wanted to buy me a drink in exchange for one of my stories. I told the story of how I fought an entire goblin army to rescue an elven princess. I told the story of how I saved a poor farm girl from a werewolf with only a fork. And I told the story of the Queen of Aerithraine, in whose company I once had the pleasure of spending a fortnight. I told that story four times.
When I got to my room on the third floor of the Singing Siren, I was tired. I was too tired to even light a lantern. Instead, I opened the shutters and let the moonlight stream into the room. I breathed in the night air as I sloughed off my jerkin and my breeches.
It was then that I noticed a light across the inn’s courtyard. In the other wing of the building, also on the third floor, someone had their window open—someone with a well-lit room. This had barely come to my attention, when a figure in that room stepped into my line of sight. It was Ellwood Cyrene. As I stood there, he started to disrobe, removing his jerkin and breeches just as I had done. I was about to close the shutters when I noticed that beneath his shirt, his entire torso was wrapped in a massive bandage. Naturally concerned, I wondered just what kind of horrible wound he had sustained that would require such a dressing.
Then he began to unwind it. I watch as he carefully removed the wrapping, and when I saw what lay beneath, I sat back, entirely missing the bed and landing on the hard wood floor. Ellwood Cyrene, my friend and companion through countless adventures, was a woman!