She went to the bottom because she thought that was the only place to go.
She had climbed to the top and had found sky and wind and light. She had enjoyed it there, with the freshness and expanse and things laid bare. She had lived that top fully and for years had been happy in it.
Then something had changed. The wind had stopped blowing. The clouds had come in low to crowd her space. The air blurred and cast everything in shadows. The top had thrilled and filled her until it didn’t. So now she needed something more. Now she’d look for earth and stillness. Now she’d look for unobscured clarity.
So she went to the bottom.
It was a continual going down, like her going to the top had been, though it felt rougher and less sure. Sometimes she slid down. Sometimes she flat-out fell. Sometimes she stepped carefully from stone to stone, each one placed just near enough for her to reach it. She went down purposely and persistently, even when the ground gave way and her company grew scarce.
She knew many who had spent their lives climbing upwards. She knew some who had made it to the top and had never left. But she knew of very few who had left the climb, and of even fewer who had made it to the bottom. She had heard stories and they had always ended in death. But she was not looking for death; she was looking for what she had lost at the top. So she moved against those who were climbing and left them and the sky behind.
Away from the top she went, going lower and further down to the earth that would be still, to the air that would keep things clear and unhidden. She went down to the bottom she thought was the only place to go.