Yet what remains is a prehistoric cairn, a type of burial or ritual monument constructed from heaped stone rather than earth, and this particular example, though heavily denuded, still rises to a maximum height of 1.7 metres and measures roughly 10 metres across.

What makes it quietly unusual is precisely what is missing. Most cairns of this kind retain at least some trace of a kerb, the ring of larger stones set around the base to retain the mound's shape, or show evidence of an internal structure such as a burial chamber or cist. Here, neither survives. The cairn has been worn down to something closer to a rough scatter than a monument, its original form difficult to read. Whether that loss is down to stone robbing over centuries, the natural processes of a difficult upland environment, or simply great age, it is impossible to say with certainty. Its position on the hillock, commanding the east-facing slope, suggests it was placed with some deliberate relationship to the surrounding landscape, as was common with prehistoric funerary monuments that used elevation and aspect as part of their meaning.