It carries a name, Scully's Fort, and a shape, something close to a heart, recorded by Ordnance Survey cartographers in 1838 on their six-inch map of Ireland. That survey, one of the most detailed and ambitious mapping projects of the nineteenth century, captured the outline of the enclosure clearly enough. But the land has since swallowed whatever earthwork once stood there, and no visible surface trace remains.

By the time a second survey was carried out at a larger scale between 1912 and 1916, the fort's presence was already reduced to a curving line of hachures, the small hatched marks cartographers used to suggest the slope or profile of an earthen feature, running from the south-east through the west and round to the north-north-east. That arc is the last cartographic ghost of the structure. Whether it was a ringfort, the kind of circular enclosure built in early medieval Ireland as a farmstead or place of local power, or something else entirely, the surviving records do not say. The name itself offers no clear clue, likely reflecting a local family association rather than any detail of origin or function.

There is nothing to see at this location today. The fields are under tillage, and the ground gives nothing away. The site belongs to a category of place that archaeology sometimes calls a levelled monument, present in the historical record, absent from the landscape, traceable only by cross-referencing old maps against the unremarkable ground beneath which it lies.