Flower in the dark

The Shroomkin had told him this place was safe. A good place. They called it home, the depths of the Zylem Well beneath the thriving tunnels of Glimmertown. He had breathed in too much of their spores, the lights and sensations had dazzled him, and with that promise of safety he had crawled into the warm gloom below to find some respite.
But, he stumbled and swooned when he should have backed away, and he fell into darkness.
Nausea had its tentacles wrapped around him and was dragging him down. The stench was of death and sap and mud and rot. It reached into him like some grotesque worm, undulating its way down his throat. His stomach was churning and his eyes felt like he was crying acid.
A good place? Safe?
In a panic, he knew he was going to die here in this squelching, sucking darkness.
You-us-now.
A voice squeezed into his head with a sound like popping grapes.
He tried to reply, "Who are you?" but all he could manage was a gurgling rasp. He could barely breathe. But the voice seemed to respond to him anyway.
We-you-now.
"Save me... please?" he could feel the last of his strength leaving him, "I don't want to die."
The stench spun, wait, it is still spinning like a strange fog whirling in his head. He felt, no, no, he feels himself slowing, wafting. Gentle now. Slowly now. Now.
The past disappears into this moment.
We-you-food-circle-life-belong
"I... I... "
We-gloom-glow.
"I... I...", the last of him wafts away, "I... we... we-gloom-glow."
The darkness smells so sweet.