The wall, which once formed the perimeter of a hut roughly 2.8 metres across, survives as a grass-covered ring no more than 20 centimetres proud of the surface. It would be easy to walk past it, reading the slight rise in the ground as nothing more than a quirk of the hillside.

What makes the structure quietly interesting is the care its builders took with the slope itself. The southeast portion of the interior was cut 30 centimetres into the hillside, while the northwest portion was built up to a height of around 60 centimetres, effectively levelling the floor before any roof went on. This kind of cut-and-fill technique, compensating for gradient by digging into the uphill side and raising the downhill side, reflects a practical intelligence that required no sophisticated tools, only a clear understanding of the ground. The walls themselves were drystone, meaning no mortar was used, just carefully selected and stacked stone, a method common across early Irish construction. The site sits on rough hill pasture broken by outcrops of rock, the kind of ground that has seen little agricultural improvement over the centuries, which may be part of why anything survives at all.