"Girl," Mrs. Whitworth believed she heard her, "Girl, go. You are too cowardly. Go."
The girl hated to be afraid: her mage sister struggled in downing the dragon, and returned with terrible stories. But the mage bragged, and came home with her tail between her legs.
She twisted her head on her neck, feeling like someone was talking to her, but couldn't hear a voice. Mrs. Whitworth wrapped around her ankles, and meowed loudly. "Oh, why not," she asked Mrs. W, "So what if I die a horrible, dragon-breath death?"
Mrs. Whitworth tagged along, and whispered something in the dragon's ear, something indistinguishable to the girl. No matter: they all flew home in style.