"I haven't seen any that seem to have died, from natural causes or otherwise, and they don't seem to have any natural predators, which is rather strange."

The swarm shifts, but seems wholly uninterested in them for the time being. Newt can appreciate the opinion of interfering in the natural order of things as little as possible. He feels very much the same about magical creatures from his world, but things are as such that he cannot simply leave most in their natural habitat. It's why his case has become a sort of conservation for them.

Still not looking directly at her, he nods as she continues, and then looks back to the fireflies. There's a shift in his pocket as he watches them, followed by a high-pitched chirp that sounds almost like a bird's if one isn't wholly familiar with multiple kinds of animals, and a tiny, furry squirrel head peers out. He reaches up to cover the top of his pocket gently, turning his face so that he can hush at it quietly, and then returns his attention to Helen.

"I find it interesting that they seem to congregate around the specific places that might offer some hope of escape."