You decide to explore the house, after all, you still need food.
The house is small and crowded with sweet cosy furniture. You sit on one of the chairs to rest, and it breaks by itself, rather unnervingly. Surely you couldn't be that heavy?
You try to ignore it, and get up to see some more of the house. You remember that there are some bowls of porridge somewhere, so you go into the kitchen to check there, and there on the table are three steaming bowls of porridge.
You try the one closest to you. It tastes cold and soggy, so you abandon it and go onto the next closest one. It is so hot that as soon as it touches your tongue, you spit it back out into the bowl. You frantically fan your tongue to try and get it to not feel so ... burnt. When you feel you have recovered, you go onto the last bowl. It is perfect. You lap it up and soon it is finished.
You feel as if you are acting from a page directly out of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, but you shake off that uncomfortable feeling because you are starting to get drowsy. Looking out the window, you see that the sky is already starting to darken, even though you felt as if only ten minutes had passed since you found the log cabin.
Now, where would the beds be?