Above the tree line, on the Changthang plateau, a single goat produces eighty grams of fleece a year. To wrap a single shoulder takes the patience of fifteen winters.
The cold is the secret. Through months of minus forty, the Changthangi grows a second coat — finer than any human-spun thread. The wind does the breeding; the altitude does the rest.
This is not luxury manufactured. It is luxury that arrives, slowly, from the mountain.