Socks spent several days avoiding his gift. The closed tubes of fabric that shared his name sake seemed more than odd. What pony would wear such things? They seemed to serve no purpose other than to cover perfectly good hooves, and look stylish,. Foalish mare's fashion, worn for looks. Unlike armor, that was worn for a reason. It protected the body and head, that was fashion that served a purpose. He wanted to throw them into the bin.

However, the regret of wasting a gift ate at him slowly. They did spend time and bits picking it out for him, even if he thought it was a complete waste. He left them on the table, with the note folded neatly under them, the box they arrived in re-purposed elsewhere. Every day he came home from the forge and saw them, laying there. He sighed and picked them up in a bit of magic.

These 'socks' were a bit heavy, weighing in at nearly at a pound each. The fabric was thick terrycloth, very tough on the outside, but the inner fabric was looped to create a tight woven carpet of fabric. The outside was nearly seamless, aside from the dark blue thread that formed a seam at the top of the hoof. The top section was ribbed, stretchy enough for the thick thighs of a pony, but held on tight so they wouldn't slip down. The underside had what appeared to be a shoe placed in the fabric, so that they wouldn't wear out when trodden upon for days at a time.

The colors were a three toned blue. A dark, almost royal blue, a lighter 'true' blue, and finally a pale sky blue. It was true that blue was his favorite color, dying his coat and mane several times when he was younger. Though his chocolate brown fur made the dye turn him a purple, it was still fun to be a blue pony.

The more he thought about it, trying them on, the more he realized that he had to at least wear them once. Socks didn't like clothes. Most of the time they were tight and constraining, made of uncomfortable fabric that tended to rub away at his coat and leave bare spots. But these weren't a shirt or pants, and the fabric seemed to flex and bend with great ease. They could even be rolled into a striped 'cinnamon bun'.

Socks sat down on his flank and brought the socks from the table to the ground in front of him. Truth be told, he was nervous. It was something he had never worn before, and unless it was a change he made himself, he tended to avoid it. What if he liked them? What would the other stallions think if he just wanted to wear all the time everywhere? He sighed, 'Just once', he thought. 'Just once.'

He raised one of his rear hooves into the air and selected one of the rear socks, indicated by the bent nature of it's unworn form. The sock was lifted in his magic and was slowly slid onto his hoof. It was a very odd feeling as he placed the ribbed top around his thigh, the inner portion nearly touching his underside.

The feeling was one he had never felt before. The sock hugged his entire leg and hoof, pulling inward in what could only be called a hug. Even though the sock was thick, it bent easily with his ankle and wrist joint near his hoof. If anything, he had to admit it was very comfortable, as he thought, a bit garish.

With the greatest bit of hesitation, he pulled on a foreleg sock. It came with the same feeling as his hoof slid into she shaped area where a metal shoe would normally sit. Socks gulped hard, embarrassed to let the thought that rose in his head that flowered into honestly enjoying it. He finished putting on the rest of the socks and sat on the ground, rear hooves splayed out and his front hooves planted between them.

Socks flexed his hooves, suppressing the urge to actually like this new feeling. He rose to stand and froze in place.

A cold wave flushed his entire body, the area where the socks hugged his legs tingled with joy. The hug now felt more like a massage, creeping it's wondrous magic deep into every muscle to relax them. Even though it was just something internal clicking, he felt that every soft loop in the plush socks telling him to relax.

Socks fired up an inquisitive cloud of magic, the thought popping into his head that they could be enchanted. As he searched every fibre, every stitch and every loop he came to the realization that they had no magical influence. He then realized that they really felt that good on their own. He didn't want to like it, to like the soft hug, how it bunched up when he moved, how it felt like walking on clouds. He came to the stern belief that he didn't like it, he didn't like it at all...

He trotted around his house. The harsh hoof clops deadened by the fabric, turning them into more of a soft thud, like a weighty pillow falling to the ground. He didn't want to admit that when the loops drove into the underside of his hoof, he liked it. He didn't want to like them, his mind wanted nothing more than to remove the weird things. But his body wanted them to stay.

He was going to have to tell his sister that he didn't like them....

He loved them.