What makes this fragment worth pausing over is the way it straddles two entirely different moments in time: at its south-western end it abuts a modern field fence, as though the contemporary landscape has simply annexed something far older, folding a relict boundary into a working one without ceremony or acknowledgement.

The wall itself is modest in its dimensions, around 0.65 metres thick and 0.6 metres high, though that height shifts as the bog deepens and swallows the lower courses. It sets off in a general north-east to east direction for about thirty metres, then bends towards the east-south-east for a further forty metres or so before fading out entirely. Gaps of between one and four metres appear at intervals along its length. One of its more telling details is the stonework: many of the individual stones are laid at right angles to the line of the wall rather than parallel to it, a construction method that points to an age well before modern dry-stone walling conventions became standard. Blanket bog, which forms slowly over centuries as waterlogged conditions preserve and bury whatever lies beneath, has a way of holding onto these older structures while simultaneously obscuring them, so the varying height of the wall is itself a kind of record of how the peat has accumulated unevenly across the hillside. About thirty metres to the south stands a separate standing stone, a single upright that hints at a broader pattern of early human activity across this stretch of mountain.