It is not a dramatic monument. It does not announce itself. What makes it unusual is what is worked into its surface: a series of carefully pecked marks, lines, and clusters, made by prehistoric hands and still legible despite centuries of weathering. This is rock art, a broad category covering prehistoric carvings made by striking or picking at stone rather than cutting it, and examples like this one tend to be easy to overlook precisely because they reward close attention rather than distance.

The boulder is roughly rectangular in plan, measuring just under two metres along its north-east to south-west axis. Its decorated face looks south-east and carries six distinct elements. At the north-west end of the upper surface, a straight linear arrangement of pickmarks runs for about sixty centimetres. Lower on the stone, a deep natural fracture running north to south has been incorporated, or at least acknowledged, by whoever worked the surface: a gently curving line of pickmarks continues from the north end of that fracture and meanders slightly as it goes. Running parallel to this line, and only six or seven centimetres away, is a linear groove extending from the same fracture. Whether the prehistoric carver was working with the natural crack as a starting point, or simply alongside it, is unclear, but the relationship between the natural and the made is one of the more quietly interesting aspects of the stone. A small cluster of random pickmarks sits at the south end, with two further clusters towards the north. The individual pickmarks are small, four to five millimetres across and only two millimetres deep, which gives some sense of the patience involved. The setting adds its own context: the boulder sits within a horseshoe of mountains to the south, west, and north, with a clear view opening out across the Behy River valley to the north-east.