AQA GCSE English Language 8700/1 - Explorations in creative ...

Mark Scheme

Introduction

The information provided for each question is intended to be a guide to the kind of answers anticipated and is neither exhaustive nor prescriptive. All appropriate responses should be given credit.

Level of response marking instructions

Level of response mark schemes are broken down into four levels (where appropriate). Read through the student's answer and annotate it (as instructed) to show the qualities that are being looked for. You can then award a mark.

You should refer to the standardising material throughout your marking. The Indicative Standard is not intended to be a model answer nor a complete response, and it does not exemplify required content. It is an indication of the quality of response that is typical for each level and shows progression from Level 1 to 4.

Step 1 Determine a level

Start at the lowest level of the mark scheme and use it as a ladder to see whether the answer meets the descriptors for that level. If it meets the lowest level then go to the next one and decide if it meets this level, and so on, until you have a match between the level descriptor and the answer. With practice and familiarity you will be able to quickly skip through the lower levels for better answers. The Indicative Standard column in the mark scheme will help you determine the correct level.

Step 2 Determine a mark

Once you have assigned a level you need to decide on the mark. Balance the range of skills achieved; allow strong performance in some aspects to compensate for others only partially fulfilled. Refer to the standardising scripts to compare standards and allocate a mark accordingly. Re-read as needed to assure yourself that the level and mark are appropriate. An answer which contains nothing of relevance must be awarded no marks.

Advice for Examiners

In fairness to students, all examiners must use the same marking methods.

1. Refer constantly to the mark scheme and standardising scripts throughout the marking period.
2. Always credit accurate, relevant and appropriate responses that are not necessarily covered by the mark scheme or the standardising scripts.
3. Use the full range of marks. Do not hesitate to give full marks if the response merits it.
4. Remember the key to accurate and fair marking is consistency.
5. If you have any doubt about how to allocate marks to a response, consult your Team Leader.

SECTION A: READING - Assessment Objectives

AO1

• Identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas.
• Select and synthesise evidence from different texts.

AO2

• Explain, comment on and analyse how writers use language and structure to achieve effects and influence readers, using relevant subject terminology to support their views.

AO3

• Compare writers' ideas and perspectives, as well as how these are conveyed, across two or more texts.

AO4

• Evaluate texts critically and support this with appropriate textual references.

SECTION B: WRITING - Assessment Objectives

AO5 (Writing: Content and Organisation)

• Communicate clearly, effectively and imaginatively, selecting and adapting tone, style and register for different forms, purposes and audiences.
• Organise information and ideas, using structural and grammatical features to support coherence and cohesion of texts.

AO6

• Candidates must use a range of vocabulary and sentence structures for clarity, purpose and effect, with accurate spelling and punctuation. (This requirement must constitute 20% of the marks for each specification as a whole).

Answers

Question 1 - Mark Scheme

Read again the first part of the source, from lines 1 to 9. Answer all parts of this question. Choose one answer for each. [4 marks]

Assessment focus (AO1): Identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas. This assesses bullet point 1 (identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas).

• 1.1 What occupation does the narrator/speaker mention?: a house painter – 1 mark
• 1.2 According to the narrator/speaker, what did My Lord do with the question?: My Lord imposed it on the narrator/speaker – 1 mark
• 1.3 What objection does the narrator/speaker anticipate from My Lord?: that there are no proceedings against the narrator/speaker – 1 mark
• 1.4 According to the narrator/speaker, when are there proceedings?: only if the narrator/speaker acknowledges that there are – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 11 to 20 of the source:

11 K. stopped speaking and looked down into the hall. He had spoken sharply, more sharply than he had intended, but he had been quite right. It should have been rewarded with some applause here and there but everything was quiet, they were all clearly waiting for what would follow, perhaps the quietness was laying the ground for an outbreak of activity that would bring this whole affair to

16 an end. It was somewhat disturbing that just then the door at the end of the hall opened, the young washerwoman, who seemed to have finished her work, came in and, despite all her caution, attracted the attention of some of the people there. It was only the judge who gave K. any direct pleasure, as he seemed to have been immediately struck by K.'s words. Until then, he had listened to him

How does the writer use language here to build tension in the hall and to show K.’s expectations? You could include the writer’s choice of:

• words and phrases
• language features and techniques
• sentence forms.

[8 marks]

Question 2 (AO2) – Language Analysis (8 marks)

Explain, comment on and analyse how writers use language and structure to achieve effects and influence readers, using relevant subject terminology to support their views. This question assesses language (words, phrases, features, techniques, sentence forms).

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Shows perceptive and detailed understanding of language: analyses effects of choices; selects judicious detail; sophisticated and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would analyse how free indirect style and cumulative syntax use modal/evaluative lexis in "should have been rewarded" and "quite right" to reveal K.’s expectations, undercut by the adversative "but everything was quiet" while the personified "quietness was laying the ground" ominously foreshadows an "outbreak of activity" to heighten tension. It would also track the shift via the temporal marker "just then" and the disruptive entrance ("despite all her caution, attracted the attention"), concluding that the narrowing of approval to "only the judge" being "immediately struck" exposes K.’s need for validation and concentrates the charged atmosphere.

The writer uses modality and evaluative diction to foreground K.’s expectations and the beginnings of his disappointment. The adverbial repetition in “spoken sharply, more sharply than he had intended” foregrounds his self-conscious control, while the assertive clause “he had been quite right” reveals a self-validating certainty. This feeds into the deontic modality of “It should have been rewarded with some applause,” which frames approval as deserved; the theatre-like noun “applause” draws on a semantic field of performance, showing K. expects recognition.

Moreover, tension is intensified through personification and striking metaphor. The oxymoronic calm of “everything was quiet” is immediately unsettled as “the quietness was laying the ground,” personifying silence as an active strategist preparing a climax. The militarised and medicalised metaphor “outbreak of activity” suggests a sudden, uncontrollable eruption, while the teleological phrase “bring this whole affair to an end” loads the moment with finality. This juxtaposition between hush and anticipated explosion keeps the reader poised on the brink, mirroring K.’s anxious expectation.

Furthermore, syntax and sentence form create a tightening suspense. The long, multi-clausal sentence, studded with subordinate clauses and commas, accumulates possibilities and delays resolution, enacting K.’s waiting. The temporal adverbial “just then” punctures the hush, and the intrusive detail of the “young washerwoman, who seemed to have finished her work,” with its hedging “seemed,” slows the scene while hinting at unpredictability. Despite “all her caution,” she “attracted the attention,” signalling a fragile, volatile crowd. Finally, “only the judge” gives K. “direct pleasure,” and the verb “struck” implies sudden impact; K. is scanning for validation, clinging to the one authoritative response that meets his expectations, which sharpens the tension between his hoped-for acclaim and the hall’s ominous silence.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer contrasts K’s confident expectations with the audience’s silence, using repetition and the modal “should”: he has spoken sharply, more sharply than he had intended and feels it should have been rewarded with some applause here and there, yet everything was quiet and they were waiting for what would follow, creating suspense and showing his hopes aren’t met. The long, complex sentence and ominous phrasing like somewhat disturbing and perhaps the quietness was laying the ground for an outbreak of activity heighten tension before an anticlimactic interruption when the door at the end of the hall opened and the young washerwoman attracted the attention, while only the judge, being immediately struck by K.’s words, briefly fulfils his expectation.

The writer uses adverbs and comparatives to reveal K.’s expectations. The phrase “spoken sharply, more sharply than he had intended” uses the comparative to show his speech exceeded his plan, yet he insists he “had been quite right,” suggesting confidence and a belief he deserves approval.

Moreover, the modal verb in “It should have been rewarded” exposes K.’s assumption that applause is due. This is undercut by the contrast “but everything was quiet,” which builds tension through the juxtaposition of expected “applause” and actual silence. The personification and metaphor “the quietness was laying the ground for an outbreak of activity” make the silence seem purposeful, foreshadowing a sudden shift and keeping the hall on edge.

Furthermore, the long, multi-clausal sentence (“they were all clearly waiting for what would follow, perhaps…”) mirrors K.’s anxious anticipation and slows the pace, so the reader waits too.

Additionally, the temporal marker “just then” and the concrete detail “the door at the end of the hall opened” introduce a disruptive moment. The participial clause “despite all her caution” and “attracted the attention” show focus sliding to the washerwoman, which is “somewhat disturbing,” increasing tension and undermining K.’s expectations.

Finally, the restrictive “only the judge” and the metaphor “immediately struck by K.’s words” show K. seeking validation from authority, sustaining the suspense over his reception.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer builds tension with contrast and a simple metaphor: K. speaks "sharply" and expects "applause", but "everything was quiet" and they are "waiting for what would follow". The long sentence with "quietness was laying the ground for an outbreak of activity" and the sudden "the door at the end of the hall opened" feel "somewhat disturbing", while "only the judge" being "immediately struck by K.'s words" shows K.’s hope for approval.

The writer uses contrast and a long sentence to build tension and show K.’s expectations. The phrase “It should have been rewarded with some applause” shows K. expects praise; the modal “should” shows confidence. However, “everything was quiet” creates suspense and makes the reader wait. The long sentence “they were all clearly waiting … to an end” slows the pace and builds waiting.

Moreover, personification in “quietness was laying the ground for an outbreak of activity” makes the silence feel active, so we expect something big. The adverbial “just then” and “It was somewhat disturbing” when “the door at the end of the hall opened” add a sudden change that makes the hall feel tense.

Additionally, the metaphor “immediately struck by K.’s words” shows impact, and only “the judge… gave K. any direct pleasure” shows he mainly wants approval from authority, while the crowd stays quiet and is distracted by the washerwoman.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response might identify word choices like "everything was quiet", "waiting for what would follow", and "somewhat disturbing" to show silence and unease that build tension. It would also spot K.’s expectations in phrases such as "rewarded with some applause" and "only the judge", suggesting he hoped for praise but got very little.

The writer uses word choice to show K.’s expectations. He says it “should have been rewarded with some applause” but “everything was quiet”, which makes tension in the hall. Furthermore, the phrase “waiting for what would follow” shows suspense. Moreover, the metaphor “the quietness was laying the ground for an outbreak of activity” suggests something might happen soon. Additionally, the long sentence with commas slows the moment, and the adverb “just then” adds urgency when the door opens. Finally, “only the judge” gave him “pleasure”, so K. still expects approval.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

AO2 content may include the effects of language features such as:

• Immediate pause and focalisation slow the pace and shift attention to the expectant space, creating suspense (stopped speaking)
• Adverbial repetition suggests intensity and a slip beyond intention, sharpening unease (spoken sharply, more sharply)
• Modal certainty presents K.’s confidence and desire for approval, revealing clear expectations (should have been rewarded)
• Adversative contrast and a long, comma-linked sentence sustain anticlimax and withheld response (everything was quiet)
• Collective anticipation foregrounds suspense and forward momentum towards the next event (what would follow)
• Tentative hedging with preparatory metaphor frames silence as ominous build-up to eruption (laying the ground)
• Aim for finality raises stakes and urgency, heightening the pressure in the moment (to an end)
• Precise timing cues make the interruption abrupt and unsettling, spiking tension (just then)
• Concessive aside and relative clause create digression; attention shifts away from K., undermining his expected acclaim (attracted the attention)
• Singular validation narrows approval to authority, revealing selective reassurance amid general silence (only the judge)

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

You now need to think about the structure of the source as a whole. This text is from the start of a novel.

How has the writer structured the text to create a sense of tension?

You could write about:

• how tension builds throughout the source
• how the writer uses structure to create an effect
• the writer's use of any other structural features, such as changes in mood, tone or perspective. [8 marks]

Question 3 (AO2) – Structural Analysis (8 marks)

Assesses structure (pivotal point, juxtaposition, flashback, focus shifts, mood/tone, contrast, narrative pace, etc.).

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 4 response will track the rising tension from K.’s confrontational opening into the strategic pause as he "stopped speaking", when "everything was quiet" and the narrator notes they are "waiting for what would follow", foreshadowing an "outbreak of activity", before a disruptive shift in focus as "the door at the end of the hall opened" and the judge "sat down very slowly" to feign calm. It would also analyse how the provocative object-focus when K. "lifted it in the air" (the notebook), the crowd’s "tension on their faces" and K.’s "less of the vigour" tighten suspense, with the isolated "Bravo!" functioning as a partial release that maintains uncertainty rather than closure.

One way the writer structures tension is by plunging us in medias res into K.’s confrontational address, then abruptly imposing a pause. His sharp monologue (“Your question, My Lord…”) establishes conflict, but the narrative cuts to “K. stopped speaking” and “everything was quiet,” a structural silence that withholds any response. The proleptic hint that the “quietness was laying the ground for an outbreak of activity” heightens anticipation only to defer it. Temporal signposting (“Now, in the pause,” “Until then”) calibrates pace beat by beat, making us wait, like the hall, “for what would follow.”

In addition, shifting focalisation and disruptive juxtapositions unsettle us. The lens moves from K. to the judge to a peripheral intrusion—“the door… opened… the young washerwoman”—a digression that fractures momentum. Lingered micro-gestures (“sat down very slowly,” “took out the notebook”) decelerate pace, and the notebook works as a structural pivot: lifted “with the tips of his fingers,” then “grabbed” back, humiliation is staged without release. Focus finally narrows onto the front-row “old men,” whose “motionlessness” and the narrator’s question (“Could they perhaps…?”) extend uncertainty.

A further structural strategy is partial release followed by anticlimax. K.’s voice “raised” and a lone “Bravo!” offer a flicker of payoff, yet the assembly stays inert; even his “nervous and distracted” delivery counterpoints that spark. The ending resists the promised “outbreak,” so the scene closes unresolved, the tension provocatively intact.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response identifies how tension builds through shifts in focus and pacing, moving from K.’s sharp speech into quietness that was laying the ground for an outbreak of activity, the interruption when the door at the end of the hall opened, then the judge sat down very slowly with the notebook, and the crowd’s motionlessness. It explains the effect: these pauses and interruptions delay resolution so that when K. raised his voice and a lone "Bravo!" breaks the silence, suspense is heightened.

One way the writer structures tension is by opening in medias res with K.’s confrontational speech (“Your question, My Lord…”) and then withholding any response. After the oration, “everything was quiet,” and the narrator notes they were “waiting for what would follow.” This pause, signalled by the temporal marker “now, in the pause,” creates a deliberate delay, so the pace slows and the reader anticipates the “outbreak of activity,” heightening suspense.

In addition, the focus continually shifts between K., the judge, and the hall, introducing interruptions that unsettle the scene. The sudden entrance of the “washerwoman” acts as a structural disruption at a critical moment, while the judge’s “very slowly” sitting and fussy handling of the “notebook” extend the suspense. K.’s provocative gesture—lifting the “charge book” with “two fingers” and letting it fall—appears to humiliate the judge, but the lack of immediate reaction prolongs the tension.

A further structural feature is the close, sustained third-person viewpoint, which contains K.’s speculations and rhetorical question (“Could they perhaps be the crucial group?”). This keeps the reader inside his uncertainty as the front row remains in “motionlessness.” Finally, a shift in mood occurs when K. “raised his voice,” and a single “Bravo!” breaks the silence. Because it is only one voice, this partial release does not resolve the scene, so the tension lingers.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer builds tension by moving from quietness where everyone is waiting for what would follow to an interruption when the door at the end of the hall opened, which unsettles the scene. Slow details like he sat down very slowly and K. touching the notebook with two fingers stretch the moment before the brief outburst Bravo! changes the mood.

One way the writer uses structure to build tension is in the opening, starting mid-speech. The focus is on K.’s sharp tone and the silent hall: ‘everything was quiet,’ they were ‘waiting for what would follow.’ This pause slows the pace and makes us anticipate trouble.

In addition, the focus shifts to small details, like the judge sitting ‘very slowly’ and the washerwoman entering. This change of focus and slow movement create uncertainty. The perspective stays with K. (‘K. stopped speaking’), so we share his unease.

A further structural feature is a change in mood. K. moves from confidence to ‘less of the vigour he had had earlier,’ and the question ‘Could they perhaps…’ shows doubt. At the end, the single outburst ‘Bravo!’ breaks silence but leaves the scene unresolved.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer starts with K.’s bold speech ('Your question, My Lord...'), then shifts to silence ('everything was quiet'), a disturbance ('the door at the end of the hall opened'), and a single reaction ('Bravo!'), which simply builds tension by making us wait to see what happens next.

One way the writer structures the text to create tension is starting with K.'s speech and then a pause. The focus moves from his words to the hall. The quiet creates suspense because we wait to see what happens.

In addition, the focus shifts when the door opens, the washerwoman appears, and K. lifts the judge's notebook. These small events break the scene and build tension as the judge reacts.

A further way is the change in mood. K. is strong, then less confident, then applause comes at the end. This start-middle-end pattern keeps the reader waiting and adds tension.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

AO2 content may include the effect of structural features such as:

• In medias res opening with direct address to the judge creates instant confrontation and situational ambiguity, pulling the reader into a fraught assembly (Your question, My Lord)
• Conflicted acknowledgement/denial of the “proceedings” sequences paradoxical statements to destabilise certainty and heighten unease (for the moment)
• A pause shifts focus to the silent hall; the ominous stillness foreshadows eruption, tightening expectation (quietness was laying the ground)
• An interrupting entrance mid-moment diverts attention and fractures momentum, injecting disruptive unpredictability (the door at the end)
• Slowed, detailed staging of the judge’s movements prolongs anticipation and concentrates tension on minor gestures (sat down very slowly)
• The contested notebook becomes a focal object; K.’s disdainful, delicate handling versus the judge’s grab dramatises a power tussle (with two fingers)
• Shift onto the unreadable audience foregrounds collective stakes; their fixed passivity keeps outcomes undecided (tension on their faces)
• Variations in K.’s delivery (sharpness fading, then strain) modulate pace and create internal instability that feeds tension (nervous and distracted)
• A lone, anonymous outburst amid general silence offers brief release yet preserves uncertainty, sustaining unresolved strain (Bravo!)

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 16 to the end.

In this part of the source, when K. grabs the judge’s notebook, he seems confident and in control. The writer suggests that he is actually nervous and not as powerful as he appears.

To what extent do you agree and/or disagree with this statement?

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of K's confidence and underlying nervousness
• comment on the methods the writer uses to suggest K's nervousness and lack of power
• support your response with references to the text. [20 marks]

Question 4 (AO4) – Critical Evaluation (20 marks)

Evaluate texts critically and support with appropriate textual references.

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed evaluation) – 16–20 marks Perceptive ideas; perceptive methods; critical detail on impact; judicious detail. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would perceptively argue that K’s show of control is performative, noting how assertive actions like "dared casually" are undercut by distancing detail—"touching it only with the tips of his fingers, as if it were something revolting"—and evaluative narration ("at least that is how it must have been perceived") that frames power as impression. It would then trace his unravelling through precise cues—"less of the vigour," a "somewhat nervous and distracted" delivery, and loss of control "without having intended it, he had raised his voice"—while the inert audience ("Every one of them was an old man," "had sunk into a state of motionlessness") and a solitary "Bravo!" expose how limited his influence is.

I largely agree with the statement: while K.’s seizure of the judge’s notebook stage-manages an impression of dominance, the writer persistently undercuts this bravado to reveal nervousness and limited power. The moment works as a theatrical flourish, but the narration’s modal hedging, the audience’s inertia and K.’s own linguistic slips expose a man more anxious than authoritative.

Initially, K. performs confidence. He taunts the judge—“That won’t help you, sir… even your little book will only confirm what I say”—using diminutive lexis (“little book”) to belittle authority. The physical business with the notebook functions as a prop: he “even dared casually to pick up” it, a pairing of “dared” and “casually” that signals risk masked as nonchalance. The simile “touching it only with the tips of his fingers as if it were something revolting” is conspicuously performative, and his precarious grip—“holding it just by one of the middle pages so that the others… flapped down”—suggests that his control is only literal and fleeting. The descriptive cluster “closely written, blotted and yellowing” evokes the age and weight of the bureaucracy; against this dense, decaying archive, K.’s two-fingered hold appears fragile. Even his satisfaction—“nothing but his own quiet words in this room full of strangers”—implies a self-enclosed control of sound rather than people, the noun “strangers” stressing his isolation.

The writer then undermines K.’s dominance through narrative commentary and audience reaction. When the judge “grabbed the notebook,” the aside “which could only have been a sign of his deep humiliation, or at least that is how it must have been perceived” is heavy with modality. This equivocation reads like free indirect colouring of K.’s wishful interpretation, not an objective defeat of the judge. Crucially, the supposed humiliation fails to move the “crucial group”: the front row of “old” men “had sunk into a state of motionlessness… not possible to raise them… even when the judge was being humiliated.” The rhetorical question “Could they perhaps be the crucial group” foregrounds K.’s uncertainty about where power truly lies.

As his address continues, the diction charts erosion: he speaks with “less of the vigour,” his scanning of faces gives a “somewhat nervous and distracted character,” and he “raised his voice” “without having intended it”—a loss of control encoded in the adverbial clause. The isolated “Bravo!”—ignored by the bearded men—offers only a token validation; tellingly, “it did raise his spirits,” and he revises his aims so that “it was enough if the majority… think… if only one… was persuaded.” Those diminishing quantifiers betray shrinking ambition.

Overall, then, I agree to a large extent: the writer crafts K.’s confidence as a calculated pose. Through symbolism (the notebook), modality, audience staging and tonal slippage, we see nerves and a lack of real power seep through the performance.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would largely agree, noting that while K seems in control when he 'even dared casually to pick up the examining judge's notebook', 'touching it only with the tips of his fingers', the narration undercuts this by showing his delivery 'with less of the vigour he had had earlier', 'somewhat nervous and distracted', as he 'continually scanned the faces' and 'Without having intended it, he had raised his voice'. It would also identify his limited power over others: the front row remains in a 'state of motionlessness', his uplift comes from a lone 'Bravo!', and he scales his aim to persuading 'only one of them'.

I mostly agree with the statement. K. initially performs confidence: he relishes his “quiet words”, and the adverb “casually” with the verb “dared” when he “pick[s] up the examining judge’s notebook” creates a tone of ease and audacity. He belittles it as a “little book” and uses a simile, holding it “as if it were something revolting”, to project disdain for the court’s authority. Even the pages “flapped down” like a theatrical flourish that makes him seem in control.

However, the writer steadily exposes nerves. K.’s insistence, “I really don’t have anything… to be afraid of,” reads like defensive denial, and “I can only touch it with two fingers” hints at aversion rather than mastery. Structurally, there is a shift: his speech continues “with less of the vigour he had had earlier”; he “continually scanned the faces”, and the narration labels his manner “somewhat nervous and distracted”. The clause “without having intended it, he had raised his voice” signals a loss of control over tone, undercutting the earlier poise.

Power dynamics also undermine K. Although the judge is “humiliated” when he “grabbed” and “tried to tidy” the notebook, the audience is unmoved: the front row of “old men” remains in “motionlessness”. The single cry of “Bravo!” is isolated; K. talks himself into accepting that “it was enough” if a “majority… began to think” or “only one… was persuaded”, which shows him lowering his ambitions. The “closely written, blotted and yellowing” notebook also symbolises an entrenched system that outlasts his gesture.

Overall, K.’s confidence is largely performance. Through adverbs, simile, tonal shifts and the crowd’s reaction, the writer suggests he is nervous and less powerful than he appears.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: I partly agree: K appears confident when he handles the judge’s notebook, shown by 'casually' taking it and that he 'lifted it in the air'. However, the writer suggests underlying nerves and limited power with 'less of the vigour' and a 'nervous and distracted character', the front row’s 'motionlessness', that he 'raised his voice' unintentionally, and only one person shouting 'Bravo!'.

I mostly agree with the statement. At first, K. looks bold when he speaks and takes the judge’s notebook, but the writer also hints that this confidence is shaky and that K. is not really in control.

The writer shows K’s outward confidence through action and adverb choice. K. “dared casually to pick up the examining judge’s notebook” and let it “fall down onto the desk.” The word “casually” and the dropping of the book suggest authority. There is also a simile when he holds it “with the tips of his fingers as if it were something revolting,” which makes his gesture seem theatrical and a bit forced, as if he doesn’t really want to handle it. Even earlier, the judge “sat down very slowly” and took out the notebook “probably so that he could give the impression of being calmer,” which shows both men are performing calm rather than feeling it.

However, the structure of the passage quickly undercuts K.’s power. Soon “he continued… with less of the vigour he had had earlier,” and the narrator says his address became “nervous and distracted” as he “continually scanned the faces.” This verb choice suggests insecurity. He even “raised his voice” “without having intended it,” showing a loss of control. The audience also weakens his authority: the old men in the front row remain in “motionlessness,” and only one voice cries “Bravo!” K. lowers his aim, saying it is “enough if the majority… began to think,” which sounds like backtracking.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: K. appears confident when he grabs the notebook, but the writer’s use of simile, adverbs, and contrast shows his underlying nervousness and limited power.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: At Level 1, a candidate would briefly agree, noting K. looks confident when he "dared casually to pick up the examining judge's notebook", but the writer shows he is uneasy with "less of the vigour" and a "nervous and distracted" speech. They might also mention the shout "Bravo!" raises his spirits, suggesting he isn’t fully powerful on his own.

I mostly agree with the statement. At first K appears confident and in control when he takes the judge’s notebook. He is “satisfied to hear nothing but his own quiet words” and he “even dared casually to pick up” the notebook. The adverb “casually” and the simile “as if it were something revolting” when he holds it with “two fingers” make him look bold, and he even “let the notebook fall”, which seems powerful. He says “I really don’t have anything... to be afraid of”, which sounds confident.

However, the writer also shows he is nervous. K then speaks “with less of the vigour” and is “somewhat nervous and distracted” as he “continually scanned the faces”. He “raised his voice” without meaning to, showing a lack of control. The audience stay in “motionlessness”; the “old men” with “white beards” don’t react, so K does not sway them. Only one person shouts “Bravo!”, and this “raised his spirits”, showing he needs approval.

Overall, I agree that although K tries to act powerful, the writer uses contrast and description to suggest he is actually nervous and not fully in control.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward. Note: Reference to methods and explicit “I agree/I disagree” may be implicit and still credited according to quality.

AO4 content may include the evaluation of ideas and methods such as:

• Physical handling of the notebook performs bravado yet signals reluctance/disgust, implying insecurity beneath control (with two fingers)
• Diminutive address aims to belittle the judge but betrays an anxious need to assert dominance (even your little book)
• Self-satisfaction in controlling the soundscape suggests poise but also isolation and lack of support (his own quiet words)
• Theatrical humiliation is brief; the judge restores decorum by reclaiming the text, so K’s power feels momentary (grabbed the notebook)
• Audience passivity undercuts K’s influence; his fixation on them highlights dependence on approval rather than command (state of motionlessness)
• Energy drop signals fading confidence as the speech progresses, weakening the earlier show of control (less of the vigour)
• Narratorial judgement explicitly reframes his delivery as anxious, undermining the appearance of authority (nervous and distracted)
• Loss of vocal control suggests strain; assertiveness slips into involuntary escalation rather than measured command (Without having intended it)
• Token applause leads him to lower his aims, tacitly acknowledging limited sway over the hall (it was enough if)
• Framing him amid unfamiliar faces emphasises outsider status, reinforcing that his authority here is fragile and contingent (room full of strangers)

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

Your college geography society is inviting short creative pieces about journeys and wild places for its online magazine.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a high mountain pass from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about reaching the sea after days of walking.

(24 marks for content and organisation, 16 marks for technical accuracy) [40 marks]

(24 marks for content and organisation • 16 marks for technical accuracy) [40 marks]

Question 5 (AO5) – Content & Organisation (24 marks)

Communicate clearly, effectively and imaginatively; organise information and ideas to support coherence and cohesion. Levels and typical features follow AQA’s SAMs grid for descriptive/narrative writing. Use the Level 4 → Level 1 descriptors for content and organisation, distinguishing Upper/Lower bands within Levels 4–3–2.

• Level 4 (19–24 marks) Upper 22–24: Convincing and compelling; assured register; extensive and ambitious vocabulary; varied and inventive structure; compelling ideas; fluent paragraphing with seamless discourse markers.

Lower 19–21: Convincing; extensive vocabulary; varied and effective structure; highly engaging with developed complex ideas; consistently coherent paragraphs.

• Level 3 (13–18 marks) Upper 16–18: Consistently clear; register matched; increasingly sophisticated vocabulary and phrasing; effective structural features; engaging, clear connected ideas; coherent paragraphs with integrated markers.

Lower 13–15: Generally clear; vocabulary chosen for effect; usually effective structure; engaging with connected ideas; usually coherent paragraphs.

• Level 2 (7–12 marks) Upper 10–12: Some sustained success; some sustained matching of register/purpose; conscious vocabulary; some devices; some structural features; increasing variety of linked ideas; some paragraphs and markers.

Lower 7–9: Some success; attempts to match register/purpose; attempts to vary vocabulary; attempts structural features; some linked ideas; attempts at paragraphing with markers.

• Level 1 (1–6 marks) Upper 4–6: Simple communication; simple awareness of register/purpose; simple vocabulary/devices; evidence of simple structural features; one or two relevant ideas; random paragraphing.

Lower 1–3: Limited communication; occasional sense of audience/purpose; limited or no structural features; one or two unlinked ideas; no paragraphs.

Level 0: Nothing to reward. NB: If a candidate does not directly address the focus of the task, cap AO5 at 12 (top of Level 2).

Question 5 (AO6) – Technical Accuracy (16 marks)

Students must use a range of vocabulary and sentence structures for clarity, purpose and effect, with accurate spelling and punctuation.

• Level 4 (13–16): Consistently secure demarcation; wide range of punctuation with high accuracy; full range of sentence forms; secure Standard English and complex grammar; high accuracy in spelling, including ambitious vocabulary; extensive and ambitious vocabulary.

• Level 3 (9–12): Mostly secure demarcation; range of punctuation mostly successful; variety of sentence forms; mostly appropriate Standard English; generally accurate spelling including complex/irregular words; increasingly sophisticated vocabulary.

• Level 2 (5–8): Mostly secure demarcation (sometimes accurate); some control of punctuation range; attempts variety of sentence forms; some use of Standard English; some accurate spelling of more complex words; varied vocabulary.

• Level 1 (1–4): Occasional demarcation; some evidence of conscious punctuation; simple sentence forms; occasional Standard English; accurate basic spelling; simple vocabulary.

• Level 0: Spelling, punctuation, etc., are sufficiently poor to prevent understanding or meaning.

Model Answers

The following model answers demonstrate both AO5 (Content & Organisation) and AO6 (Technical Accuracy) at each level. Each response shows the expected standard for both assessment objectives.

• Level 4 Upper (22-24 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 35-40 marks total)

Option A:

The pass reveals itself reluctantly; a seam between two brooding summits, stitched with a thread of shale. A stone cairn stands there, a rough-hewn sentinel, its wet stones stacked with improbable patience, beaded with mist that moves yet never seems to go anywhere. Wind arrives in tatters—thin, metallic; it nips the ears and scours the lungs until breathing feels like sipping through a reed. The light is pared-down, alabaster and austere, as if the world has been put on pause. Up and up and up the path crawls.

Underfoot, the ground crackles with ice-filmed grit, then slides treacherously into slate; boots test, hesitate, trust. Lichen blooms—sulphur-yellow, starved green—on the black knuckles of rock; heather crouches low, a stubborn survivor. Somewhere below, water threads the ravine, a silver whisper beneath the wind’s long exhalation. Meanwhile, above, a raven scribbles its ragged call into the cloud and then is rubbed out. The air is rarefied, almost too clean; each inhale scours, each exhale smokes. The pass is narrow, a saddle worn thin by weather and footsteps, weather and footsteps.

Through the gauze of vapour, the world reveals itself in shards: a far lake like a tarnished coin; a river looping; a serpentine road that seems both near and impossibly distant. On the far side, ridges recede in serried ranks, each paler than the last; closer, the rock shows its history—striations where a glacier tutored the stone, crushed and polished and dragged. The cairn’s topmost pebble, pink as a bare knuckle, wobbles but holds; it feels deliberate, this precariousness, this handiwork of strangers who meant their message to be simple: this way.

Yet the pass is not merely a route but a mood, a threshold that slows the mind and makes the heart listen. Wind threads the coat, then the ribs; silence steps forward between gusts and looks you in the eye. There is fear, of course—edges, cornices, the sudden whiteout that erases even your own footprints—but it is courteous fear, the kind that sharpens the gaze and steadies the hand. Beyond, perhaps, a valley fanned with orchards; behind, the known village with its chimney smoke and quietly closing doors. Between them: you, pausing.

Sometimes the cloud thins and the sun presses a coin of pale gold into your palm; sometimes it closes like a blanket, heavy and damp, and the world is a small circle of stones and breath. A katabatic hush slides down from the high arête; the cairn ticks as droplets fall from stone to stone. Then—the mist lifts, and the pass is a balcony, and the mountains stop pretending to be sleeping giants and stand, immense and awake. You step; the rock receives you. The path gathers itself. Down and down and down the other side, the day begins again.

Option B:

By the fourth morning, my feet no longer felt like mine. They were borrowed, begrudging creatures, strapped into boots stiff with dust and rimed with sweat-salt. For days, the track had been a ribbon of grit—hedge, gate, stile; hedge again. I measured miles in blisters and in a map gone soft with handling. Still, I kept going because the map said nothing about giving up: only a hard edge where land surrendered to something larger.

The first sign was not sight but scent. Even before the horizon unclenched, the air grew stranger; wind came clean through the hedges and set iron on my tongue. Threaded through soil and nettles was a sharp tang—as if a key had turned in a long-closed room. A sound arrived, too, tentative then insistent: gulls’ thin laughter; the hush-and-drag of a body breathing.

I crested the last rise and, abruptly, the world opened. There it was—the sea—laid out like beaten pewter under a sky so wide it seemed indifferent. Not postcard blue: slate, silver, and, in the distance, torn white where waves shouldered one another, relentless, exhausted, relentless. Light stuttered across it; light stitched and unstitched a path I could not follow.

The wind pushed at me with both hands. I laughed, a thin sound in all that space, and stumbled down the shingle, boots grinding on gravel that slid and re-formed. The shore smelled of rot and freshness—weed, tar, salt. At the waterline, I sat and unlaced my boots. My feet were pale, wrinkled, petulant. The first cold lick made me flinch; the second seared; the third was almost kind.

People talk as if arrival is simple, as if oceans solve things. I had not come to be solved. I had come because, on a night rusted with arguments, I said I would leave; because the sea, in my father’s stories, was a beginning. Even so, standing shin-deep with pebbles needling my heels, something unclasped. Not forgiveness, exactly. A loosening.

A small boat bumped the pier to my left, paint flaking like old skin; a woman in a red jacket coiled a rope. The tide fussed among the stones; a bottle wobbled and returned. I breathed in until it hurt, then let it go, long and slow, and watched it snatched away. Here I was; not fixed, but found—at least for now.

• Level 4 Lower (19-21 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 32-37 marks total)

Option A:

The pass rides the spine of the mountain, a narrow saddle of rock scoured clean by wind and winter. Mist drapes itself across the ridge like torn linen, whitening the distance; between folds of vapour, the world opens and closes, opens and closes. A cairn squats at the highest kink in the path, stones stacked by hands that never met, a patient little tower the colour of old bones; here, even lichen keeps its breath close. Above, the sky is a dull coin rubbed thin by cold fingers.

The wind has a voice; not one note, but a braided choir: a whistle through wire, a low hum in the throat of the rocks, sudden hisses where it finds a crack. Underfoot the scree slides and settles, beads of shale clicking; my boots bite, lift, bite. Step after step. Cold sits on the skin like fine grit; a faint metallic tang of snow, though daylight pretends otherwise.

To either side, the slopes fall away—everything seems restrained, yet danger lives in the angle. On the right a river writes itself in runes of light; on the left a tarn wears grey glass, crazed at the edge. Here the mountain pares the world to essentials: stone, air, water, and the stubborn heat of a body moving through them. Even the colours are edited—slate, ash, the brief green of moss; then, suddenly, a hawk, raw as rust, swings out of cloud and vanishes.

The cairn is not beautiful, not exactly; it is sure. Each flat shard leans, asks for balance, offers it; weather has smoothed it, not palms. I want to add a stone, to say I was here, but my hands hesitate; the topmost rock is precarious, and I imagine the whole pile tumbling—a clattering confession blown thin by wind. I think of the old road that once threaded this gap—hooves wearing a rhythm into grit, pack bells striking small, careful notes; of late crossings like this one, quiet and necessary. The mountain does not care; that is oddly comforting.

When the mist inhales, the view arrives in a rush. Ridges shuffle forward from the margins, serrated and successive; valleys unroll like dark cloth; a filament of track stitches east to west. For a breath, light breaks and the cairn casts a neat shadow—a tidy signature—before white air returns, generous and blank. I step on, listening to the pass say nothing at all.

Option B:

Salt: the promise that had kept me moving when my legs argued otherwise. It arrived before the sea itself; a faint tang lifted on a wind that had clearly come from a wetter, wider world. The air cooled. Marram grass began to comb the sand with green fingers; dunes shouldered up where the track loosened and gave way. Somewhere out of sight, a gull stitched its cry through the sky, and the sound unpicked a knot in my chest. I tasted something older than the road. After days of walking—countless white mornings, torn afternoons, nights riddled with stars—the sea announced itself not with spectacle, but with breath.

Days had become a smudged ribbon behind me. Step after step: count to a hundred, breathe; count to a hundred, breathe again. Boots gnawed; blisters blossomed in painful bouquets; the pack sawed at my shoulders. The map, folded and refolded, softened into a damp confession, and the margins bled blue. My tongue felt like a badly drawn road, cracked and pale. Why the sea? Not only to stop walking. I wanted an edge—some incontrovertible line where land ended and excuses evaporated. Perhaps then the noise inside me would quieten; perhaps the horizon might be a door, not a wall.

At the crest of the final dune (if final can be trusted), the world unfolded. The sea lay outstretched—vast, ribbed with light—and the sky seemed to lean down to meet it in a silver seam. The surface flickered; small waves hurried ashore like messengers carrying a thousand notes. My heart hammered like a fist on a door. I watched the colour change as clouds drifted, slow as ships. It was not triumph that rose in me; it was relief, warm and unsteady. I let the pack drop; the thud felt ceremonial. For a breathless moment, everything I had dragged behind me seemed to drop with it.

I stepped down the slope, sand slumping under my heels, and unlaced my boots with stubborn fingers. The wind was busy with my hair; the sea kept talking. When the first wave reached me, the cold bit my ankles, then soothed them; my skin tightened, then learned to belong. I laughed—startled. In the satchel lay the letter I had not yet opened, Mum’s last, the one that simply said, "When you reach the sea." I did not know what it would ask of me. But the water waited, patient, and I had time.

• Level 3 Upper (16-18 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 25-30 marks total)

Option A:

The pass lifts like a grey spine between two darker shoulders, a narrow saddle stitched with a thin ribbon of stones. Mist slides through the gaps, furling and unfurling as if the mountain is exhaling; the air tastes of iron, and the cold presses at the throat. A cairn rises where the track kinks, not elegant but stubborn, stones upon stones, a small tower of patience. Its damp skins of lichen feel ancient. The wind rubs its voice along the rocks and leaves a low hum.

Underfoot the slate chips shift and chime; each step starts clear then gets swallowed. To the right the ground falls away so abruptly that it makes the stomach flinch: somewhere below, a tarn glints when the mist lifts, a coin flicked and caught again. Simultaneously, the world is close and endless; the sky is a lid and a window. The cairn, notched by a red ribbon (left by hands that wanted to be remembered), knocks lightly in the wind.

Here the details insist themselves. Mica flashes in the granite, tiny mirrors; the lichen is mapped like pale countries across the boulder. Water creeps out of seams and threads the path, gathering into a shining braid; it leaves your fingers numb. The smell is clean but complicated—wet stone, peat, a tang of rust. Somewhere above, a raven croaks, dragged away by weather. Step by step, the track pulls you through a doorway of fog that closes as soon as you pass.

Then, at the crest, clarity happens in a breath. The cloud tears into veils and the far ridge appears, serrated, precise, like the spine of a sleeping creature; the sun is a thin coin pressed against it. A gust shivers the cairn and the ribbon whispers. I pause, uncertain, and the wind seems to answer without words. In a moment the white comes rolling again, and the world is hidden, yet it is still there.

Option B:

The wind reached me first; it threaded cold fingers through my hair and salted my lips. After days of walking, the sea appeared not as a picture-postcard—blue and neat—but as a thin, shivering line at the outskirts of the world. I stopped on the brow of the last hill and listened. There it was: a slow inhale, a heavy exhale, the steady breath of something older than roads. My calves trembled; my shadow stretched long and wavering, as if it, too, was trying to reach the water.

Before this, there had been lanes that twisted like unanswered questions; fields that repeated themselves; rain that stitched the mornings together and sun that unpicked them again. I had counted blisters like pale coins; I had watched the map grow worn, soft as cloth, from folding and refolding. Day after day, mile after mile, step after step. What else could I do but continue? The bag bit into my shoulders; the straps dug canals into my skin. Yet the idea of the sea—bright, freeing—kept tugging me forward.

Now, as the path descended, the smell grew richer: brine and tar, something green and rotting, something clean. Gulls sketched their noisy arguments across the sky. Marram grass brushed my legs; sand shifted, sly and uncertain, beneath my boots. I felt as brittle as driftwood, but lighter, too, as if some knot inside me had begun to loosen. Then the last dune fell away and the world opened. Light scattered on the water; the horizon drew a straight, stern line no hand could smudge.

I unlaced my boots with clumsy fingers and let them collapse beside me. Cold sand swallowed my toes; it was softer than I expected, a cool, grainy balm. When the first wave reached me, it clutched my ankles and retreated, testing me, and then returned with a little more courage. It was not gentle; it was blunt and honest, and that felt right. I stood until the ache in my legs dissolved into the rushing. I had made it. The sea said nothing, but it kept breathing.

• Level 3 Lower (13-15 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 22-27 marks total)

Option A:

The pass crouched high above the valley, a narrow ribbon of rock stitched between two dark shoulders. Mist clung like a damp shawl, curling and uncurling, hiding and revealing the way. The wind came thin and sharp; it tugged at my coat, and underfoot the path rasped with frost-hardened grit as the edges fell away so quickly they made the stomach dip.

A cairn stood on the crown of the track—nothing grand, just careful stones on careful stones—like a small lighthouse for walkers. It kept its place while the pass funnelled us through; on one side cliffs rose, on the other the land dropped into cloud. The rocks were scabbed with lichen and scratched, as if a great animal had dragged its claws along them.

The sounds were few but strong: the whistle of wind around the cairn; the dry clack of loose pebbles; a raven’s rough call from inside the mist. Cold settled into my fingers until they felt wooden. I could taste metal on the air, a clean mineral tang, and smell wet stone. Every step had a rhythm—lift, place, slide, catch—again and again.

Sometimes the grey thinned and the world opened like a map. Far below, a river twisted, thin as wire; trees bunched like dark stitches; a road shone and then vanished. Then the cloud swept back and the pass felt small again, just a corridor held between these huge bones of earth. It was both warning and invitation; it asked for quiet feet and steady eyes.

Option B:

The first sign was the smell: sharp and cold, like a handful of nails left in the rain. It came over the crest of the last hill and slid into my lungs. Salt, tar, kelp; a recipe for arrival. After days of walking, our boots had learned to drag. Laces grey with dust. The path loosened underfoot, stones becoming grit, grit becoming sand. Wind gathered speed; it combed the gorse and pulled at our sleeves. Beyond the fields, the light changed as if someone had cleaned the world’s windows. Then the horizon opened—thin and gleaming—and the sound reached us, not a roar but a breathing.

For four, maybe five days, the road had stretched like ribbon. We counted blisters instead of miles; we counted hedge-gaps, cattle grids, and the bright coins of puddles. Our map softened with sweat and rain until the corners curled. We kept going because of the idea of the sea. We argued about its colour: steel or green? Would it be flat as a plate or full of white teeth? I pictured cold water biting and then easing the ache in my feet.

And at last, there it was. The dunes dipped, the sand spread out, and the sea lay wide and restless. The gulls wheeled, their cries thin and bright. We let the packs fall. I took off my boots; my socks were stiff; my toes were strangers. When the first wave touched me, it was a surprise—like ice and tin fizz, then sweetness. The water tugged at the little pebbles; it tugged at the days behind us too. For a moment I felt no weight at all; just the sky, the salt, the steady breath of the tide. We walked forward a few steps more, calves burning, hearts steadying. It wasn’t the end. It felt like the start.

• Level 2 Upper (10-12 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 15-20 marks total)

Option A:

The pass rises in front of me, a narrow trail scratched into the spine of the mountains. Thin air tastes like metal on my tongue. Cold crawls through my gloves and sits in my fingers. One colour rules: grey. Mist drifts in slow sheets, it sticks to my coat and makes the rocks shine. At first the only sound is slate under boots; each step answers with a small crack. The sky—heavy and pale—hangs low and squeezes the light.

Further along, a cairn grows out of the path, stones stacked by many hands. It looks fragile, but it stands: a small tower holding the route like a promise. Stone on stone, year on year. The wind noses at it and moves away, like a thin animal sniffing, cautious. Who put the first rock here? I pause, palm flat to the cold surface, feeling old grit press into my skin.

Beyond the cairn the track narrows to a thread. On one side, a hard black drop; on the other, slopes of heather and scree slide away. The wind climbs the walls of the pass and finds every seam; it whistles and then fades. It’s kind of terrifying and calming at the same time. The world feels nearer up here, cloud almost at my shoulder.

Then the ridge eases; mist thins. A stripe of sun glimmers on a far valley. Behind me the cairn crouches like a guardian, simple, stubborn. I step on, careful but steady, step after step.

Option B:

At last, the air changed. It tasted of salt and iron; it prickled my lips and made my tongue feel awake again. It smelled of seaweed and old rope. The wind tugged my hood like a stubborn child, and the path fell away into sand that squeaked under our boots. We climbed the last dune. There it was: the sea.

For days we followed a thin road through fields and small towns, past hedges and bus stops. Step after step after step. My rucksack thumped my spine in a slow drum; blisters swelled on my heels, hot and sore. Me and Maya stopped talking sometimes, saving breath for hills and counting white lines. At night I dreamed in maps, lines wrinkled like old skin. By noon each day my legs felt wooden.

Now the horizon lay straight as a ruler, silver where the sun leaked through cloud. Waves rolled and collapsed like a giant breathing. There was gulls wheeling; a bell clanged. We walked down to the shingle. Pebbles clicked like coins, cold water licking our ankles. The smell of tar drifted from the harbour, faint but real.

I crouched and dipped my hands. Salt stung the small cuts and I winced, then laughed — a ragged, relieved sound. We made it. After all the miles and sore feet, we had arrived. I let the sea take the ache out of me; it hurt, and it healed. Was this really it?

• Level 2 Lower (7-9 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 12-17 marks total)

Option A:

At first the pass is a pale track scratched along the mountain. Mist presses like wet wool; the air is thin and sharp. The wind tugs at my coat, it whistles in the gaps and tears at the heather.

Then I see a cairn, a rough stack of grey rock, beside a twist in the path. It looks like a small guard. Someone set each piece with careful hands, so it leans but still holds. The stones wear weather scars: cracks, pale lichen, chalky dust.

When the cloud thins, the world opens. I glimpse the valley, a pale ribbon road, tiny roofs below. The drop is sudden; my stomach dips. Sound is strange up here: a bird’s cry, a distant clatter, then the grey folds shut like a curtain.

Finally I move on, step after step, as the pass bends round a broken outcrop. Cold bites my fingers but I keep going, because the next stone marker waits.

Option B:

The sea. A thin blue line at first; wavering, bright, calling from the end of the road. I tasted salt on my lips before I even saw the waves.

After days on cracked lanes and fields, my legs shook. Step after step, like a drum that wouldn’t stop. Brambles scratched and my boots rubbed; the straps of my bag carved red marks on my shoulders. The wind was bossy, tugging my hood, pushing my hair into my eyes, but we kept going. At night we slept under a low sky, counting stars, counting miles left.

Now the air smells of salt and old nets. Gulls hang like paper cut-outs against a white sky; their cries are thin and sharp. The shore looked endless, I kept walking until the path fell away and the sand welcomed us. Foam licks my ankles - cold and bright - and I laugh, even though my cheeks feel stiff with dust. Only the sea: wide, moving, alive. It breathes in and out; it's breath on my face and in my chest where it aches. After so much dry road, the blue opens like a door. I don’t speak. I just stand there, then step forward, and the world loosens a little.

• Level 1 Upper (4-6 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 5-10 marks total)

Option A:

The pass is high. The air is thin and cold. The path is narrow and rocks are sharp. Mist sits over everything like a old blanket. The wind pushes me and makes a low sound and the cold get under my coat A stone pile marks the way.

I can not see far, only shapes.

I walk and my boots go crunch crunch. Every step is slow because the edge wich is right there. The mountains are big and dark like sleeping animals. The sky is white and grey; it feels heavy.

Sometimes the sun trys to come through but it hides again. The stones are wet on my hands. I hear a bird, then nothing. Time is strange, it goes backwards and forwards, like the wind. I want to reach the pass but it keeps moving away. So I keep going, I am small, the pass is big.

Option B:

Sea. Big and moving. After days of walking, I see it at last.

We was on roads and fields. My bag cut my shoulder. My feet was sore and hot. I kept counting steps, one more, one more, like a drum that would not stop.

Then the smell comes first, salty and sharp. The wind pushes my face and pulls my hair, it feels new. The line of water is long and straight, blue on blue.

I stop. I just look and I breathe. The waves clap, like small hands, like someone saying well done, well done.

Sand gets in my shoes. It is cold, it is soft, it is everywhere and I dont mind it. I go closer and the white foam runs up and it runs back.

The sea says my name, not loud, but over and over. I want to go in, but I am scared and I stand there, smiling.

• Level 1 Lower (1-3 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 2-7 marks total)

Option A:

Mist sits on the high pass. It is thick and cold and it gets into my face. The stones make a small pile, a cairn, it looks like a tiny tower and it wobbles. The path goes up and up, skinny and grey; I breath slow and my legs feel heavy. The wind push me, it moans and makes my coat flap. The stones are slippy, I can hear a bird somewhere. The sky is white like milk. I think about tea at home for no reason. Sometimes the cloud open a bit and then close again, left and right, back and forth.

Option B:

We walked for days and days and the road was long and dusty and my feet hurt. My bag was heavy and my mouth was dry and I kept counting steps. Then I saw the sea. It was big and blue and it moved, it looked like a sheet moving in the wind. I have never been to the sea before. I went closer and the air was salt and cold and my toes went numb, I couldnt smile. My mum said keep going yesterday but I stopped now. A dog barked and waves hit stones and I stood there.