It has been in this state of readiness for the better part of three centuries. The hollow from which it was prised out of the bedrock is still visible nearby, a neat negative space that makes the whole scene oddly legible, like a sentence interrupted mid-word.

The slab measures just over two metres in length, 37 centimetres wide, and 16 centimetres thick, the proportions of a grave marker or a structural lintel. It was most likely hewn in the 18th century, cut and dressed with the intention of being moved elsewhere, though whatever project it was destined for never seems to have claimed it. It did not go alone in being abandoned. A comparable slab lies 40 metres to the northwest, and in wet conditions an inscription is still legible on its surface, hinting that these were not purely utilitarian pieces. Two further quarried slabs sit 50 metres to the northeast, and two more are recorded roughly 500 metres to the southwest, suggesting that this low, rocky terrain was worked with some ambition, however incomplete the results. The cluster points to a localised industry or a single sustained effort rather than casual opportunism, though the records are silent on who commissioned the work or why it was left unfinished.

The site was brought to the attention of the National Monuments Service by a member of the public, Nick Geh, which is itself a reminder that this kind of quietly anomalous archaeology often goes unregistered for years. The landscape of rock outcrop and scrub that surrounds it is typical of this part of Clare, and the slabs sit within it without ceremony, easy to overlook unless you are already looking.