They are easy to miss. The stone itself is small, roughly a metre and a half across and less than half a metre high, sitting on a north-west-facing slope at about ninety metres above sea level. What makes it quietly arresting is not its scale but its persistence: these are cup-and-ring marks, a form of prehistoric rock art found widely across Atlantic Europe, in which a small depression, the cup, is surrounded by one or more incised concentric rings. Nobody is entirely certain what they meant to the people who made them, and that uncertainty is part of what makes them so compelling.

The outcrop is fractured by a natural crack running roughly north-east to south-west, and the two motifs sit on either side of it, about twenty centimetres apart, as though the maker acknowledged the fault line as a kind of boundary or division. The northern motif is the larger of the two, with an overall diameter of seventeen centimetres and a cup just under eight centimetres across; the southern is slightly smaller, at fourteen centimetres overall. Both are faint, the carved lines only a millimetre or so deep, which means they reward close looking rather than a passing glance. A second rock art site lies roughly fourteen metres to the north-east, suggesting this stretch of hillside was meaningful to prehistoric communities in ways that went beyond the purely practical.

The landscape context is worth noting. The rock faces outward towards Brandon Mountain, Brandon Bay, and the Maharee Islands, with Lough Adoon and its waterfall visible to the south-south-east, and Slievanea rising behind to the south-west. Whether that orientation was deliberate on the part of whoever carved these marks is impossible to say, but it places the site within a wider field of view that feels anything but accidental. The carvings are shallow and the pasture rough; raking light in the early morning or late afternoon tends to be the most reliable way to make faint rock art legible.