It is easy to walk past without registering what it is, the walls reduced to a low spread of rubble, the whole thing measuring only three metres at its longest and barely more than two at its widest. Yet the proportions and the construction method tell a clear enough story: someone, at some point, built a shelter here and intended it to last.

The remains are defined by a drystone wall, a technique requiring no mortar, just carefully selected and stacked stone, that has since tumbled to a height of roughly 0.6 metres and a thickness of around 0.7 metres. Along the north-eastern arc, the builders cut the wall footing some 0.4 metres into the upslope, a practical measure to level the interior and anchor the structure against the gradient. Heather-covered sods now obscure much of the northern and eastern stretch of the wall, while loose rubble has scattered southward down the slope. The hut sits within a wider field system, suggesting this was not an isolated act of shelter-seeking but part of an organised, if now largely vanished, agricultural landscape. Roughly two metres to the north-east, a second hut site survives in similarly reduced condition, which raises the possibility that the two structures were used together, whether seasonally for transhumance grazing or as part of a small permanent settlement is not clear from what remains.