24 original exam-style questions - 6 pages of questions with a full mark scheme - free printable PDF.
Original short fiction written for Revision Library.
Mira picked her way along the flooded footpath, her wellington boots sinking into mud the colour of stewed tea. The rain had not stopped in three days, and the beck behind her grandmother's cottage had swollen into something wilder, something with a voice of its own.
She had promised her grandmother she would only walk as far as the old stone bridge and back, but the sound reached her first: a thin, rasping cry, almost lost beneath the rush of water. Mira stopped and listened. There it was again, faint and pleading, drifting up from somewhere near the bridge's crumbling arch.
She hurried forward, her heart thudding harder than the rain on her hood. Wedged between two rocks at the water's edge, half submerged and shivering, was an otter. Its slick brown fur was matted with mud, and one paw was twisted beneath it at an angle that made Mira wince. The animal's dark eyes fixed on hers, wide and exhausted, too tired even to struggle.
"It's alright," Mira whispered, though she had no real reason to believe it was. She crouched at the water's edge, feeling the cold seep instantly through her jeans, and reached out both hands. The otter flinched, a small, sharp movement like a struck match, but did not pull away.
Mira's grandmother had always said that Ashbeck Bridge was older than the village itself, its stones laid by hands long since turned to dust, and that the water beneath it had never once, in living memory, run dry. Now Mira understood why the otter had chosen this place to shelter: the arch curved low and close above the rocks, a stone roof against the storm.
She wrapped the otter in her coat, feeling its heartbeat flutter frantic and quick against her palm, and began the long walk home. Behind her, the bridge stood exactly as it always had, patient and unmoving, while the flood water churned beneath it like something impatient to be somewhere else.
Her grandmother met her at the door, took one look at the bundle in Mira's arms, and did not ask a single question before fetching a towel.
It was only that evening, warm and dry beside the fire with the otter sleeping in a box lined with blankets, that Mira remembered what her father had told her at breakfast: the council was sending surveyors to Ashbeck Bridge on Monday, to decide whether the crumbling old crossing was safe to keep, or whether, after two hundred years, it would finally have to come down.