The structure measures 5.2 metres in diameter, and its stone wall, though now only about 20 centimetres above the bog, was originally 70 centimetres thick, enough to suggest solid, considered construction. What is quietly telling about this particular hut is the engineering applied to its awkward position on an east-sloping hollow: the interior floor was raised on the lower, eastern side and cut 80 centimetres into the hillside on the upper, western side, so that anyone living inside would have stood on a roughly level surface. That kind of deliberate levelling speaks to a place intended for regular use, not a temporary shelter thrown up in haste.

The hut does not sit alone. Two further hut sites lie close by, one roughly 26 metres to the north-east and another about 30 metres to the south-west, and the whole cluster occupies a landscape still crossed by relict field boundaries. These are the ghostly traces of former land divisions, low earthen or stone banks that once marked out cultivated or grazed ground, and their survival alongside the hut sites suggests an organised, working settlement rather than an isolated dwelling. Taken together, the huts and fields form a small, coherent picture of past land use, preserved largely because the bog grew over them and, in doing so, kept them. Peat is a remarkable conservator; its wet, acidic conditions slow the decay of organic and inorganic material alike, which is why features that would have been ploughed out or robbed for building stone elsewhere can endure here at the surface, just visible above the waterlogged ground.