Two pieces are set into the top of the wall that once divided the houses from each other; a third was found buried in the floor of one of the rooms. What makes the situation quietly odd is not just the fragmentation, but the reuse: a slab that was once a deliberate act of devotional craftsmanship had, at some point, become building material, its carved face turned into rubble fill.

The scholar Françoise Henry excavated the site and published her findings in 1951, including a sketched reconstruction of how the slab would originally have appeared. It was a substantial piece of work, rectangular in form, roughly 55 centimetres wide and at least 1.2 metres tall. One broad face carried the incised outline of a Latin cross filling almost the entire surface, and within that outline the carver had worked a pattern of linear interlace, the kind of interlocking geometric knotwork familiar from early medieval Irish stonework and manuscript art. Where the shaft and arms of the cross meet, the interlace resolves into a small equal-armed cross with slightly expanded terminals, a detail only visible in Henry's reconstruction drawing, since the weathering on the surviving fragments has worn the carving to near-illegibility. A cross-slab is essentially a flat stone dressed and incised with a cross, distinct from the freestanding high crosses more commonly associated with Irish monasticism, and examples are found across early Christian sites throughout Ireland and Scotland.

One large fragment, the right-hand portion of the original design, still stands upright in the dividing wall between the two houses. Beside it, on its southern side, a second piece sits deeply embedded in the masonry, its decoration barely traceable. The carving is there, but patience and good light are needed to make anything of it. Henry's published reconstruction remains the clearest way to understand what was once cut into the stone.