con·tig·u·ous
Adjective
1) touching; in contact.
2) in close proximity without touching; near.
3) adjacent in time: contiguous events
Thorin was young when he first saw the ghostly apparition pass through the treasury; his family's kingdom was prosperous in food and riches. His cousin, Glóin, was a well-trusted banker and was showing him where the jewels their people crafted were deposited. He had just passed a hill of what looked like sapphires when a small child of man peeked around the hill. She was small and frail-looking. Then again most creatures that weren't of dwarven origin tended to look weak. She had pale blonde hair and glassy blue eyes.
"Hullo," her soft voice drifted towards him like flowers on a breeze.
"How did you get here, little one?"
The rest of her emerged and she wore an odd-looking garb. It was a cross between a dress of some kind and a robe; it was the color of the sky at dusk, all hues of oranges, reds, and faint hints of purple.
"I f'llowed m'mama," she mumbled as her tiny hand fit into his as he led her away from the cold of the treasury.
Thorin shrugged off his outer coat to wrap it around her. She was no apparition as her touch was real, but by Aulë was she tiny! Not even dwarflings were ever so small.
"Where is your mother now?" He wasn't aware of any dignitaries of Man that were to be visiting the mountain; Balin would have mentioned it to him at breakfast today.
"Oh! There she is!" The child pointed to nothing in particular before she slipped out of the coat and took off running. "Mama!"
"Wait!" He followed after her and watched as she faded and vanished before his very eyes.