She wraps herself up in her grey cloak, hood up, even though the autumn day isn’t that cool. It’s the only way she feels even a little safe, though. It makes it harder for the hunter to find her; he can’t just look and identify her. He has to be sure, and that gives her time to run.
She hasn’t eaten in a couple of days. She’s been afraid to come back into town, afraid he’ll find her, and there’s not much to eat in the forest. It’s getting harder to think clearly, but begging doesn’t require a lot of thought — just sit down with her sign and look pitiful (not hard). Hopefully someone would drop her a couple dollars, at least.
She falls into a half-doze, coming alert when she senses someone a little kinder nearby. So when she notices the hunter’s tell-tale absence of emotional aura, it’s almost too late already — he’s only a dozen or so feet away, clearly headed in her direction. Panicked, she abandons her sign and her earnings and bolts, straight into someone’s chest.