Berserker is very bad at comfort -- all he does is say mean things that may or may not be cruel jokes. He's still learning, though it's not likely he'll ever be good at this kind of thing.

He's content to sit there holding Waver for just a bit longer. While he'd never say he was concerned for his well-being, it's obvious in the way he acts (just don't call him on it). He only lets go when Waver asks about a blanket. Dragons aren't exactly the warmest creatures, no. Berserker takes off his cloak and wraps it around him. It's wool, so it's good for trapping heat and it has a couple of familiar scents in the fibers, too.

"I could tell you all the ways you're an idiot, but it's pointless. You're lucky," Berserker says as he cups Waver's chin, stroking his cheek with his thumb, "that I've learned to care."

He presses his forehead against the turnskin's, his eyes closed. This gentle affection is still so strange for him, but it feels good. He's terrible with words, so this is the only way he can really think to comfort Waver. It eases his own discomfort by letting him feel that he's still here and in one piece. He didn't fail his ally...no, his friend.