Zeyida lived long with the Podlings, so that they—shorter of life—came to regard her as a wise elder, whose memory bridged generations. This is as things must be: that the old support and guide with their age-tested wisdom, not rule or hide away from the youth, to whom the future is owed. The Skeksis did both; they were worse halves of a better whole. But what of the MYSTICS… and what of Aughra? A full measure of both deeds and non-deeds must be made.
As for the Podlings and their adopted Gelfling grandmother, one must not underestimate the inherent good of this arrangement: not only what she shared with them, and they her—what this mix of peoples gave to each other—but that she was: that she lived, and saw, and was seen, and loved and was loved. The shell she'd retreated into was melted by the warmth of the culture she became a part of, so that she might brilliantly shine her own warmth back onto those who'd given her so much. She lived; her own life was worth working for.
And yet, there remains a tragedy to her tale. That she, like so many in this age of Division, was divided from her people: the Dousan, and Gelflingkind more generally. The splintering of the Gelflings, and all the peoples of Thra, was not an evil of Zeyida's creation, but it was done, and even Gelflings played a part… though, their part was not the highest, nor the cruelest. Regardless of how much they knew, this part they played, and so they grew without one Gelfling woman, and she without any of her own people, whose perspectives she would have benefited from. In a way, she needed to live with her own people; for there are differences between Podlings and Gelflings, just as there are differences between men and women, and between women-with-wings and women-without. The Lie is not the lines, but the idea that those who are different to you are somehow evil, less worthy of care;lesser,in some hateful way. That one side of the line is 'better'—this brings Division, not differences themselves. To live well, we must live at the conjunction of many differences, yet still somehow give kindness; not fall to suspicion or "superiority". Even a Gelfling like Zeyida, who knew the effects of these evils first-hand, was capable of performing them. Only once she relented them, her fears, was she able to find her community.
There she did live, for many trine. Her hair thinned and grayed, her face set to wrinkling. The Podlings, whose hearts are full of joy and song and laughter, knew her to be rather quiet, but no less joyful for it. A calming presence. And her wisdom: stories of ages past, of the desert and the stars, the danger of the Skeksis, and what Mother Aughra had shared with her; for all of this she was a conduit. At times she would even sing—Gelfling have songs also, held close. On those nights, with fires crackling down to embers, the Pod Peoples would quiet as Zeyida sung somber songs in her own native tongue. One need not understand the language to hear the melodies; to feel. This village of Podlings—who'd been mostly ignored by the closest Gelfling Clan, and weren't much interested in upsetting that arrangement—came to respect her, to see her as one of their own. This was a good as well: that in a time of division and over-soon death, one small bond was built throughout a long life. Still, Zeyida's sorrows were never forgotten. Her family and friends she'd never see again—the culture she'd been sundered from, which was ailing in her absence—even the two new "revolutionary" friends she felt she'd failed to make. Though she smiled and lived and loved, in her low songs these unforgotten sorrows found a voice.
When she was very old, Zeyida had her close-held wish granted. A trio of Gelflings came in the night to the little village she resided in, cloaked and hidden, with breaths ragged and fear in their eyes. They tried to speak with the Pod Peoples, but there was a wall of unmatched tongues between them, so the Podlings—who at least could tell these people were frightened, and from far away—did the best thing they could manage: summon The Elder. A pair of boys, near to adulthood, were sent to knock on the ageworn door of a little old hut, thick with warm rugs and old trinkets, from which Zeyida emerged. She was shocked to see more of her own people for the first time in many trine.
She learned that they three—a man, a woman, and their child—were refugees. Something terrible had happened in the Vapran city Ha'rar, and now many Gelfling were disappearing, or dying in some War against terrible, insectoid monsters. To herself, Zeyida shook her head and chided. The Arathim were not 'enemies' as her people supposed. This Division came from her own people's hatred, as much as the Arathim's 'evil'; perhaps the Skeksis truly are behind it all, as those men claimed so long ago, she thought.
Just outside this village of Podlings, a General of the Skeksis spoke blustering commands to his mindless horror-soldiers, the GARTHIM: 'They ESCAPED!Three Gelfling: a male and two females! Find them and capture them!' He was feeling especially old today, and desperate. Stocks were low.
Surprised to see one of their own so far from any known civilization, the woman of these refugees clutched Zeyida's arms. 'What are we to do!?' she cried. 'The monsters are not far from here—we are exhausted, and cannot fight them! My wings cannot carry all three of us to safety!'
'You must take her!' The man pressed his infant daughter into his partner's arms. 'I will delay the Skeksis armies. Fly now, that you two might live!'
The woman turned to Zeyida with tears in her eyes. 'They know our faces. I fear they will not stop until they've found us, there aren't… they want all of us… I'm not sure how many of us are left.' She held her baby up. 'Will you take her? Fly away to safety, while we delay the murderers?'
Zeyida scratched her chin. 'Skeksis, hmmm… you are young, miss. I am old. That I might live, while you perish? The young dying so the old can keep… that seems to be what's caused all these problems in the first place. You forget that we have other allies to consider here: I speak the language of the Pod Peoples, and they will help us. If you are so quick to forget, the Skeksis Lords will surely pay no heed to a few fleeing Podlings…' She did accept the Gelfling child into her arms, then spoke words to her friend Drim, a Podling who was with them. She handed the child to a trio of Podlings: a woman and two men. They moved to hide the youngling, and escape with it in tow.
This came to the dismay of the infant Gelfling's parents. The man said: 'Err, are we sure that—'
Zeyida waved her hand. 'Nonsense,' she said. 'They will do whatever they can to keep her safe. Podlings are wise, especially when together… do not assume by their small stature, "odd" language or free-flowing joy that they are foolish. Now,' she said, a twinkle in her eye, 'what's this about "Skeksis armies" …?'
Zeyida and the two younger Gelfling adults tried to fend off the invading Garthim. Many Podlings fled carrying baskets with supplies, bundles of tools and food and cherished works of art, and a hidden baby. In time, all three adults were captured, along with some brave Podlings: caged and carried off to the Castle of the Crystal. Apparently the Skeksis wanted them brought in alive. As Zeyida lay, tired and injured in a rolling, wicker cage, she thought: I'll have some words for these so-called "Lords of the Crystal".
In the forest in the night, ignored by the Skeksis and their soldiers, many Podlings and that infant Gelfing escaped, to find and strengthen a new village by their communal affection. But Kira's is another story.