Revised D8

"Dibs on Snow." Timothy is fuming, livid at having his favorite weapon used against us. I wasn't even aware he could be so angry, with his diabolically mischievous mind. I didn't know he could actually kill.
"She's just doing what we're supposed to do - kill each other and survive," I point out, a little startled by the fury in his tone. We are extremely lucky we spent the morning sluicing down the entire island, before Snow and her hellish ideas popped up. So now we're swathed in one of the huge thick protective canvas tents, hoping the smoke will kill 1 and 12 or the river will stop burning, before we smother.
"I'm serious, that little-" He goes into a string of words that I sincerely wish had never been invented. "She's determined to turn us into well-cured hams."
"Hams?" I give him a blank look. Besides smoking, I don't see the connection.
"Long pork?" he prods in disbelief, staring at me. I don't reply, simply gazing at him expressionlessly, unblinking. I swear that boy is a piece of work - even killing mad and inches from death, he will still cut wisecracks. He shakes his head, looking away again. "I mean it, you know. I'd like nothing more than to spit her on a sword." He has got cooking meat on the brain. Understandably.
"Technically it was Moore firing the arrows," I offer.
"I'll let you have her, then," he says moodily. Yay. I get to face the Career.
"On the plus side, the mutts might get them," I say with brutal cheeriness."So then we could just stay under here and whichever one smothers slowest is victor."

Timothy:
I'm pretty sure Charlene's bipolar. One day it's 'this will never work.' The next day she's all - ah, sarcasm. Sarcastic optimism. I decide to play along. "Idea, that," I say in an offhand manner. "Where's the pillows, we can mix things up a little." All bantering aside, it is definitely getting stuffy in our canvas filter. "Do you think a slow death asphyxiating or a faster, painful death having your lungs frazzled, is preferable?" I ask in painful gasps. Charlene doesn't answer, both of us trying to breathe more slowly and shallowly to prolong our oxygen for as much time as possible. It was a race of time, between the mutts and our air.