What makes it quietly unsettling is not the stone itself but what it implies by its solitude: local tradition holds that it was once part of a three-stone arrangement, the three uprights set out in a triangle. Two of those stones were removed in the 1940s, leaving this one to carry the configuration alone, reduced now to a boundary marker as much as a monument.

When Bowman recorded the stone in 1934, it was already incorporated into a field fence, standing around seven feet tall at that point, though subsequent measurement puts its current height at 1.2 metres. Whether it has settled, been re-set, or simply measured differently on different occasions is unclear. Standing stones of this kind are a common enough feature of the Irish prehistoric landscape, single or grouped upright stones erected during the Bronze Age for purposes that remain genuinely uncertain, variously interpreted as territorial markers, astronomical alignments, or sites of ritual significance. A triangular grouping would have been relatively unusual, which makes the loss of the other two stones the more frustrating. Local memory also attributes the stone to a giant, whose fingermarks are said to be visible where he gripped it before throwing it to its present position, a folk explanation that attaches to standing stones across Ireland and reflects the common impulse to account for the inexplicable with the heroic.