A slim humanoid figure, the size of a young woman, climbs down from a tree a short ways from your campsite. As it approaches, you indeed notice much of the shape and sense of a young woman about her form, but her features are unusual. Her dark hair is long and matted, streaked with green, and the right half of her face and the skin of her fingertips appears made of pale grey wood bark. Her eyes appear human, bright green irises looking back at your group with obvious distrust. She is clothed in mismatched castoffs, a jacket that's too large for her and trousers that she's tightened with a scrap of rope around her waist. As she reaches the edge of the clearing where you have stopped, each step is cautious, ready to spring back at the slightest provocation.
"Lots of people say that," she says, and the wooden side of her face moves stiffly, though far more than you would expect from true wood. Her voice is quiet, pitched at the level of someone years younger than her height and build would suggest she is, and a little bit shaky. "Fewer still mean it."
She comes no closer, and you can tell she's leaning as though she's a half-step back into the forest already.