It measures roughly nine and a half metres east to west and six metres north to south, rising just over a metre at its highest point. A smaller companion mound, about four metres across and less than half a metre high, lies immediately to the south-west, most likely broken away from the larger mass at some point. Together they represent what is known as a fulacht fia, a burnt mound, one of the most common yet persistently puzzling monument types in the Irish archaeological landscape. The basic mechanics are well understood: stones were heated in a fire, then dropped into a water-filled trough to bring it rapidly to the boil, leaving behind a characteristic dump of heat-shattered rock and charcoal-darkened soil. What exactly the troughs were used for, whether cooking, bathing, brewing, or industrial processes, remains a matter of debate.

What makes this particular spot worth pausing over is not the mound itself but its company. Sitting beside a dry channel that once presumably carried water, the site lies within a broader prehistoric landscape that has survived in unusual density. Two further fulachtaí fia lie within fifty metres to the south-east and east. A hut site sits roughly sixty metres to the east, and yet another burnt mound is positioned about the same distance to the north-east. A field boundary wall, part of a wider network, runs approximately fifteen metres to the south. The cumulative picture is of a hillside that saw repeated, organised activity over an extended period, with water, fuel, and stone all close enough to be practical. The dry channel beside the main mound would once have been the operational heart of the site, the source that made the whole process possible.