They are not marked, not excavated, and not formally identified. Their exact position on the island is uncertain. What persists is the story attached to them, which is older than any survey.

W. G. Wood-Martin, writing in 1882, recorded that the island was said to be the burial place of two mythological lovers. He gave no names, and the tradition itself offers none. The ridges are there, the association is there, and beyond that the record goes quiet. It is the kind of folk memory that outlasts its own explanation, passed along not because anyone could verify it but because the landscape seemed to demand some accounting for itself. Ireland has many such sites where a slight unevenness in the earth becomes, over generations, the outline of something older and more charged than ordinary ground. Here, that process has produced a story without protagonists, a grave without an occupant, and a location that even those who documented it could not precisely fix.