It is not much to look at now, but the geometry of it rewards a closer reading. The remains measure roughly 5.5 metres north to south and 5 metres east to west, the outline still traceable through a drystone wall, a construction technique using stone fitted without mortar, that has slumped to little more than 0.4 metres in height and 0.6 metres thick, its upper course long since grassed over.

What makes the structure quietly interesting is the care taken with the ground itself. The builder did not simply set walls on the slope and accept an uneven floor. Instead, the north-east portion of the interior was cut into the hillside to a depth of around 0.3 metres, while the south-west portion was built up by roughly 0.4 metres, the two adjustments working together to produce a level living surface. It is a small but telling detail, evidence of considered effort rather than hasty shelter, though nothing in what survives establishes a date or names the people who carried out that work. Rubble scattered around the perimeter suggests the wall was once more substantial than its current collapsed state implies.