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Summary
There were no tears in Mitrev's eyes. That was without doubt, because Mitrev did not cry. He hadn’t cried since… well, he couldn’t remember when, which meant it was long enough to define him. He was not a man who cried. He was a man who had been called a name he had not heard in years by a medic in a military hospital while a razor moved under his jaw, and there was moisture at the corner of his eye, and therefore Talvela had cut him.
That was the only explanation.
Mitrev receives better care than he expects as a prisoner of war, but does not know what to do with unexpected tenderness.