That absence is the first puzzle. The structure, roughly eleven metres east to west and seven metres north to south, is built of uncoursed mortared rubble, meaning the stones are not laid in regular horizontal rows but packed and mortared together without a consistent pattern. Its walls stand between 1.2 and 1.5 metres high, and at a metre thick they have some solidity left, yet nothing in the surviving fabric indicates where people once entered or looked out.

The deeper puzzle lies just to the east. A second, separately walled enclosure adjoins the site, and the Ordnance Survey six-inch maps, drawn in the nineteenth century with considerable care for local detail, marked a church there. No trace of that building now remains above ground. What survives instead is the structure in the western graveyard, which the maps apparently did not identify as a church at all. Whether the two enclosures represent different phases of the same site, or whether the cartographers simply recorded what was still legible in their own time, is not clear from what remains. The ridge-top setting, running east to west with ground falling gently away on both sides, is a common choice for early ecclesiastical sites in Ireland, where elevation carried both practical and symbolic weight. But the relationship between the roofless rubble building, the graveyard surrounding it, and the vanished church to the east is one the landscape no longer explains.