On Sarronny, we do not step on living plants. Long ago, the Academy at Karis built walkways over the ground. Their glass and silvery metal gleamed in the moons’-light.
Martisset sprawled among the living plants, until she learned that was taboo on our world — an offense kin to blasphemy, a collective self-mutilation. I did not have words to explain it to her, and managed anyway.
She leapt up, and never did that again in my sight.
I read a story set on Karis, where lovers rolled naked among grass and flowers.
I closed it, black-screen, in horror at the perversion.