It is roughly oval in plan, measuring about seven metres north to south and just under five metres east to west, and nowhere does it reach more than 0.8 metres above the surrounding ground. Flat-topped and covered in grass, it sits at the point where the land begins to fall away to the south, west, and more gently to the north, occupying a position that feels deliberate without announcing itself.

What makes the site genuinely interesting is not the mound alone but the landscape around it. Several old field boundaries have been levelled over time, and their traces survive as scarps, low earthen steps in the ground that mark where those boundaries once ran. One scarp, running roughly north to south about eleven metres to the west, is still visible as a low west-facing ledge some twenty metres long. Two further scarps run east to west at distances of around thirty-six and fifty-five metres to the north of the mound, suggesting that this small rise once sat within a more structured and actively managed agricultural or settlement landscape. Whether the mound itself is funerary, a platform of some kind, or a remnant of earlier activity is not recorded, and its undated, unclassified status is part of what makes it quietly compelling. Approximately forty-eight metres to the east stands Killinaboy medieval church, a roofless ruin that carries its own layered history, including a carved sheela-na-gig above its doorway, one of those enigmatic carved female figures found on Irish ecclesiastical sites whose meaning has been debated for centuries. The proximity of the mound to that church raises questions that the available evidence does not yet answer.