It's belated, but he finally catches the scent of a familiar dragon, right as Berserker approaches them, close enough to touch. Waver looks unwell, feverish and clearly having trouble maintaining focus, but the good news is that he is conscious and aware enough that he recognizes Berserker. He even uses his grip on Geralt's shoulder to prop himself up enough that he's slightly less sack-of-potatoes flopped and more almost sitting up, peering up at Berserker in a way that makes it seem he really needs glasses.

"...sorry," he mumbles, wilting a bit at the scolding, even though it's comparatively light. Still, it's a relief to see Berserker hadn't been caught, himself.

Geralt is right, too. Sooner rather than later is probably for the best. Waver slumps more in his arms again, satisfied now that Berserker has rejoined them and trying to save his strength.

"Ugh... feel sick." Obviously. He hadn't really meant to say it aloud, but it just slips out in a soft whine. Closing his eyes doesn't help that much, but for now, it's the best he can do. Waver buries his face in Geralt's shoulder, trying to breathe in his scent and distract himself enough that the muted feeling of his senses not working properly stops being quite so disorienting and uncomfortable.