The Psilocybience

The leafy canopy sheltering the winding shadowed path seemed to absorb nearly every ray of light cast down by Celestia's sun. It was a metaphor, perhaps, for the wild bounds of the forest that ran on it's own terms rather than the standard of Equestria. Next to the mere ponies, the strands of Oak and Fir seemed gargantuan; ebon pillars scraping the underbelly of the sky. Perforating the earth around the base of every tree-trunk, choking out even the forest's aboriginal plants, grew the mushrooms. If at first imposing and menacing, the dark tangle of the Everfree seemed actually to be suffering, it's ordinary state of liberty being crushed by the invasive fungus. The very trees were drooping, lines of sticky sap running down the bark like tears. Here and there, tiny spores were starting to encroach on the path, gnawing slowly away at the bare ground.

It was common knowledge in Ponyville that the once the town had grown large enough for Celestia to grace it with Her presence, she had lain great magic on the feral wood: not only to prevent it's further expansion into now-claimed pony-territory, but also to protect the path through, so anypony could travel to the other side and out safely. Even to Applejack, untrained in the arcane arts beyond Zap Apple harvesting, the implications were immense.

If this red-tipped carpet was starting to erode Celestia's magic then... Well she really didn't want to think about that.

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Somewhere at the approximate center of the great wood, an enormous mushroom stood like some monument to an indifferent god. At seemingly random intervals, it would issue forth a bright lavender light, illuminating the dark clearing in which it stood. At it's base a small mound of displaced dirt gave evidence of an opening into the heart of the earth, a black mouth gaping and toothless, ready to swallow anything passing between it's jaws.

Once more the eerie light flared, revealing a curious raven perched nearby, head cocked towards the shroom-shaped enigma. It hopped a step closer, cawing once as if to draw the strange thing into friendly conversation. Impatient, sensing a pulse of life from the fungus, the rook took flight, gliding on outstretched, glossy wings. It landed on the source of it's curiosity and pecked at it once as if to test the thing's fortiude.

Suddenly, everything changed.

A soft call morphed into maddened cawing, the blackbird beating it's wings and trying to spring off of the soft surface. It gained an inch of air, strands of some ooze clinging to it's pronged feet.  A shriek of triumph locked in it's throat and choked to despair as the bird sank back down into the head of the pulsating shroom, slowly being enveloped in the now-shifting patterns of the cap. Soon enouugh, the last hoarse cry escaped the sharp beak as the mushroom gorged, melding the crow's shape into it's own being. It wasn't long before the surface stopped rippling, smoothing back into normalcy that made the growth seem almost content.

Not even a feather was left to indicate that a creature had once lived.