It was as flat as a beach after the tide had retreated.

The tide had retreated fully, baring the normally covered black shelves.

The tide was retreating, baring more of the beach.

The tide was well out, and still retreating.

As he had predicted, by the time we did find a way down, the tide was retreating from the bronze sands.

The tide had now retreated, forcing us to wade through shallow water, kayaks in tow.

The tide retreated, and a moment later was gone entirely, leaving Will hanging in the darkness again.

After our evening meal, we sometimes walked the cliffs, or clambered down to stroll the beaches as the tide retreated.

The waves crashed upon the sand, and the tide crawled up over the ground and retreated as if pulled back.

When the tide retreated, all evidence of her energies to save herself and the clutch would be obliterated.