The Well.

"I'm not doing this! I can't. Seriously, Nathan, I'm tired. I'm tired of the dirt under my nails. I'm tired of this ridiculous digging. I'm tired of that smirk on your face. Do you really think this is funny?"
"Dig, Kate."

More sun, more silence, more sorry-ass work, and little to show for it, little satisfaction in the "end". Those days the Wind rarely stirred quick enough to feel, and He certainly stopped moving strong enough to hear ages ago -perhaps when Kate was a child and she still understood faith.
(Remember, her circumstance was everything. Present-tense is always so very real when you immerse yourself.)

"This hole isn't right. It never ends, and you know it... it's another one of your faulty designs, your lofty ideals... Oh, Nate! Come now, look at me.. can you still tell me that you believe? We've been slaves to this idea for so long now, and what have we to show for it? Early arthritis and sore backs, that is all! My throat is dry and my skin is cracking -your wife is wasting away at your command. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Dig. I promise you, Kathryn, this will be over soon."
"'Dig, Kate.' 'I promise you, Kathryn' 'Trust me, Kay' I don't even know what "trust" is anymore. I'm losing hope and you are losing your wife. Do you honestly think that I'll..."

All hell continued to break loose until it was douced with reality.
Water is a very good remedy for most any panick, especially those engulfed in flames.