Newt's face screws up in brief at the use of his name as such. There aren't many who call him as such, and while he can appreciate the way it rolls off the other man's tongue, he isn't certain just how he likes it.

"Yes," he says, though it hadn't been posed as a question. Very few people know of his time spent on the Eastern Front, but his brother always did weave fantastic tales. He always found it a little odd. The other man seems himself. Seems---kinder, like the brief encounter from his youth.

He shifts, relaxing a little, and turns so that Graves might see the little squirrel better.

"Broken paw. She must have fallen out of her nest. She'll need caring for."