What makes it worth pausing over is the thin stone slab jutting from its centre, set upright on edge and aligned northwest to southeast. That single protruding stone may be the exposed edge of a cist, a small stone-lined burial box of the kind commonly associated with prehistoric interments. The cairn itself is roughly circular, about ten metres across and rising no more than a metre above the surrounding ground, and it carries two slight hollows, one on the north side and a shallower one to the south, the kind of depressions that often signal old disturbance or partial collapse.

The mound was noted on a Geological Survey of Ireland map and appeared in the Record of Monuments and Places in 1996, cautiously catalogued as a possible earthwork rather than a confirmed monument. That tentativeness reflects something genuine: the site has not been excavated, and its precise date and function remain unresolved. What adds texture to the picture is its immediate neighbours. Two further cairns sit within roughly thirty-five metres of this one, one to the north-northeast and another to the southwest, suggesting this corner of Creevagh was treated as a significant place by whoever raised these mounds. Immediately to the northwest, a small area of quarrying has disturbed the ground, and a modern cairn, the kind walkers sometimes build, sits just to the north-northeast, a reminder of how the impulse to stack stones in a landscape persists across centuries without any particular continuity of meaning.