Gripped by fear, you didn't so much as make the conscious decision to retreat to the shore so much as you found yourself tearing off.
It was some instant thing; your legs just moved. You could only assume all that hunting junk they spouted held some water; you didn’t have the energy to question it.
Thankfully, you weren't the only one to get that idea, and all the commotion from the fleeing Hounds must've confused whatever was after you. Still, you couldn’t stave off nagging worry for those negligible casualties that weren't so lucky...
Lost in thought, you didn’t know you were about to bump into somebody until you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders stop you. “What were you thinking?” The whiny Hound from earlier whisper-yelled at you, moving you further inland with surprising concern.
Courteously, he leaned around you to yell. “Gregor the Great? More like Gregor the Mediocre!”
“Shut up, Quincy! Nobody asked…“ Panting, your guide stood on the rocky shore with his hands on the wet knees of his pants. “See? See- I told you, it was the Gill Man!”
“It was an alligator!” Throwing his hands in the air, Quincy stormed off towards the woods, throwing what appeared to be a typical outburst. “What ever happened to hunting real monsters? I don't know why I even work with you people!” You were wondrong teh same thing...
However, a swath of Hounds followed behind, assuming he was leading the way back after a successful hunt, not bothering to check if anybody had retrieved the obligatory trophy, much less slain any monsters.
And wearily, so did you, water squelching in your boots as you trudged back towards civilization you were lucky to return to. Maybe, you were lucky…