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It was the third day of the trek, and Elias’s left heel felt like it was being interrogated by a blowtorch. He sat on a mossy log, peeled off his cheap, sweat-soaked cotton sock, and stared at a blister the size of a sourdough starter.

"You're wearing sponges," Sarah said, dropping her pack. She looked fresh, despite the 15-mile climb. She reached into her side pocket and tossed him a pair of charcoal-grey . "I can't take your spares," Elias protested. buy icebreaker socks

Elias slid them on. The reinforced cushioning felt like stepping onto a cloud that had been custom-molded to his arch. By the time they reached the summit, he’d forgotten about his heel entirely. The wool pulled the sweat away from his skin, keeping his feet bone-dry even as the temperature plummeted. It was the third day of the trek,