It measures roughly 86 centimetres long and 29 centimetres wide, its long axis oriented east-northeast to west-southwest, and it sits in open grazing land with no obvious ceremony about it. What makes it worth pausing over is not the stone itself in isolation, but what lies 12.1 metres away to its north-northwest: a second standing stone, recorded separately but clearly part of the same arrangement.

Standing stones of this kind are scattered across West Cork in considerable numbers, and their purposes remain genuinely uncertain. Some are thought to mark boundaries, routes, or burial sites; others may have served astronomical or ceremonial functions, their alignments perhaps meaningful to the communities that erected them. The pairing here, with two stones set at a fixed distance and a deliberate relative bearing, fits a pattern seen elsewhere in the region, where stones were placed not singly but in relationship to one another. The sandstone itself is local material, the same rock that underlies much of this part of Cork, shaped and set by hands whose intentions have not survived the intervening millennia.