At 1.71 metres long and tapering from just over half a metre wide at the head to a narrower base, it is not a small object, and yet it carries no inscription, no name, no date. What it does carry is an intricate carved design, lightly incised into stone now heavily patched with lichen, and joined back together with cement where it was once broken clean in two.

The carving itself rewards close attention. At the centre of the cross-head sits an eight-petalled rosette, and from it four arms extend outward, each built from an inner trefoil, a three-lobed leaf form common in medieval decorative work, from which three stems branch off. The central stems end in quinquefoils, five-lobed flower shapes, while the outer stems curl back into simpler trefoils. Below the cross-head, on either side of the upper shaft, there were once further foiled motifs, though the break in the stone has damaged them beyond clear reading. The shaft itself ends in a knop, a small rounded terminal projection, beneath which three more stems fan out, each finishing in a trefoil. It is a composition that feels both formal and quietly elaborate, the kind of design that would have required a skilled hand and, presumably, was made for someone worth the effort, even if that person's name was never added, or has simply not survived.