What makes the site quietly unsettling is not just its age but the evidence of what happened to it over the centuries: the tomb was almost certainly robbed of its own fabric to build the field boundaries that now cut across it. The monument became its own quarry.

The remains sit on a natural rise of rush-covered rough pasture, incorporated into the junction of two boundaries belonging to an ancient field system that includes numerous upright and set stones across the surrounding landscape. The field system is believed to post-date the tomb, meaning the boundaries were likely constructed using stone taken directly from the structure itself. What survives is fragmentary: two possible sidestones with a displaced lintel lying between them at the northern end, two septal-like stones set transversely at the south, and a possible jambstone beside the eastern septal. Septal stones in megalithic tombs are internal dividing slabs that separated chambers within the burial space, suggesting this may once have been a more elaborate multi-chambered structure. Further uprights visible in the surrounding bog, to the northeast and southeast of the main remains, might be court-stones, the upright slabs that in court tombs typically define a forecourt or ceremonial space in front of the burial chambers. On the upper surface of the displaced lintel, a single cup-mark is visible; these shallow, circular hollows, carved into rock surfaces in prehistoric times, appear across Ireland and Britain, and their precise purpose remains a matter of debate.

The site sits within a landscape that repays slow attention. The field system surrounding it includes many upright and set stones, and the relationship between the tomb and those later boundaries is legible on the ground if you know what to look for: stones that once formed a burial monument now quietly doing the work of a field wall.