The garden grows creatures no one has ever seen — not us, not you, not anyone. When you meet one, you give it a name. Any name. There is no wrong word.
Days later, the garden will ask — gently — whether you still remember. Which one is the “flerb”? What do you call this one? Your language grows a word a day.
Nobody else can be right or wrong in it. The only person you can be faithful to is the you who named them.
Typos are forgiven. Forgotten words can be renamed — the garden keeps the old name in the roots. Your dictionary can be shared one creature at a time: your friend guesses first, then sees your word.